Twilight Sunrise
by Tairi Soraryu
Summary: Sequel to Forgotten Memories. Link is ready to start his life with Ilia, but a disturbance in the desert calls the Hero of Hyrule back into the saddle before his wedding. Gerudo desert, thieves, and a crying child in the Mirror Chamber. Ch. 5 up 3/3/13.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights or persons hereby depicted. The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess is the sole property of Nintendo. Any inconsistencies in game events alluded to in the following are mine alone.

**Author's Note:** Special thanks to **Superbleh11** for the wonderful review of _Forgotten Memories_! Your support and feedback gave me the courage to put this up here.

**Chapter One

* * *

**

Queen Zelda was distinctly displeased.

She sat behind her wide mahogany desk, one slender finger tapping the paper centered on the blotter. It was her only outward sign of discontent, and she kept her face composed as she listened to Link's report. She focused on his words, the rhythm and cadence of them, but took little of her customary pleasure in listening to his voice. It was a voice that suited him, with his hair blond as summer hay, his blue eyes calm as Lake Hylia on a late spring morning in a face both youthful and wise.

It was a voice that suited the room, her personal office with its soothing jade greens and pale pinks over the dull gray stone quarried from the eastern reaches of Hyrule. How often had she sat just here, listening to Link report on the status of the troops or the progress of current projects? How often had they sat in the pretty sitting area on a winter's evening, mugs of steaming tea and a tray of small cakes on the low cherry wood table, spending a companionable hour in each other's company?

He had never shown the smallest hint of discontent, had never hinted at an inner restlessness or dissatisfaction with his life. Oh, he had spoken fondly of his summers in Ordon, and the way he depicted those months in his childhood home painted a mental image for Zelda, one she could retreat into whenever her own life threatened to submerge her with responsibilities and loneliness.

Could he not see how much she relied on him, for so much more than simple training of the Hylian soldiers? Could he not see how much she needed him?

Across the desk, Link tried not to fidget in the straight-backed chair. Queen Zelda was something of a friend to him, and he had certainly known her for as long as he knew anyone in Castle Town. He hated the dark curling of loathing under his heart. Self-directed loathing, because he knew he was letting her down. He'd known he was dooming her to disappointment when he'd ridden into the city that morning and requested an audience.

And as testament to their closeness, she had invited him here, to her personal chambers, rather than the more formal audience hall where she entertained foreign dignitaries and locals come to petition for her good graces.

Yet with every word he spoke, he was hurting her.

"I understand we never set a limit on my services," Link concluded. He wished he could read her face, but Zelda looked as impassive and distant as when they'd first met. There was a wall between them, tangible as the cool stones beneath his feet. "I'm willing, of course, to continue to serve Hyrule, but in a more limited capacity. Ilia needs me home the entire year. She deserves that." _I do, too._ It almost slipped out, but he held back the words. He wasn't entitled, he reminded himself. He was Hero of Hyrule, and everything that entailed. Entitlement simply didn't play a part. "I hope you can understand."

Zelda couldn't fight the small barbs of betrayal. "And how about what _I_ deserve, Link?" He looked completely lost. It was such a patently Link expression, one of such innocence, Zelda could almost smile. Almost. "Have you thought about what the people of Hyrule deserve from you?"

Link looked down at his hands. He saw, as he always did, the faintest outline of the Triforce of Courage on the back of his left hand, felt the weight of it. "I have," he said. He lifted his eyes to Zelda's, read the hurt and recrimination. She had never been particularly adept at masking her true emotions from him. "I have," he repeated, because she looked like she doubted him. "I've given up the chance at having a normal life for nearly ten years, for the good of all of Hyrule. Now I've been given the chance to do something for the good of one person. The person who means more to me than anyone," he murmured. The glow spread from his heart outward, warming him, as he thought of Ilia. "I want to do right for her."

Now, alongside the hurt was envy. Zelda's fingers curled into a loose fist, and she casually linked her hands in her lap so Link wouldn't see the evidence of her inner struggles. "You understand your duties during winter training are not so easily transferable. We would have to find a replacement."

He hated that prim, formal tone of her voice, hated that he felt the need to reply in kind. "I believe Tanner is more than capable of assuming the bulk of my duties, and Captain Brooks is well aware of the general training schedule." He named two of his wintertime friends and fellow training masters at the castle. "Ilia agreed that it would be fair if I spent a small measure of time in training sessions." Her concessions had been grudging and hard-won, and extended to a single two-week trip once a year. But it was better than nothing.

"Better some than nothing at all?" Zelda lifted an eyebrow. She struggled with the sense of abandonment. As queen, she was well used to disappointment, as well as the oftentimes overwhelming need to stand alone, but it was a surprising blow to have to face it from such an unexpected source. Lies had never worked with Link, and she sighed, suddenly tired. "I never thought this day would come, Link. I thought I could depend on you."

The dart was well-aimed, and Link scrubbed a hand over his face. "Well, ouch. We talked, last winter, the year before, about how we could alter my current schedule. I can't keep living like this indefinitely, half here, half in Ordon." He shook his head. "I don't want to, and it's not fair. It's not fair to me, Zelda."

Zelda looked down at the papers on her desk. The words were meticulously written in his slow, careful script. The pages were the thick, yellow parchment used in the humbler villages where the technology to refine and bleach fibers had not yet spread. On the paper was a detailed accounting of his responsibilities, as well as a plan for disseminating his duties among those in the castle. Link was nothing if not thorough. "You're asking for an immediate judgment on a difficult proposition," she said. "Have you spoken to Tanner or Captain Brooks?"

"No. I felt it best that I come to you first, and, with your approval, approach them regarding the matter." Link wished his shoulders weren't so stiff. Weren't they friends? But even friendship, he knew, had boundaries. "I think they would both be willing, at least for this winter, to work this out." Tanner, in particular, had teased Link the past few years about settling down, finding himself a nice girl, creating roots. The older man had a wife and children of his own. He would understand.

"This winter?" Zelda blinked in shock. She wondered where she had been that this bit of information had slipped past her. "You want this to start immediately?"

No, Link thought wearily, and strove to help Zelda understand. He wanted it to stop.

* * *

Link left Zelda's private chambers with a tension headache that drew the muscles from temple to temple as taut as the skin of a Goron ceremonial drum. It felt as if Gor Coron were beating his champion-wrestler fists on that drum, and every reverberation sent shock waves through Link's entire body.

He'd agreed to give her a full day to think about his requests and discuss them with her advisors. Link tried not to resent her for the position she put him in. Why should he have to ask to have a life? Why didn't he have the right to choose to live his life the way he saw fit, without having to confirm his every decision with her? Like he was some untrustworthy child needing his parents' approval.

Zelda had ordered that his rooms be cleaned and prepped for his use, but Link didn't head down the corridor now. He had the better part of the afternoon left and no inclination to spend the hours brooding. Both Tanner and Captain Brooks were in the field, which meant they were heading lessons or training sessions with the new recruits. Link would talk to them both after the evening meal.

In the meantime, he strode out of the castle, ignoring the guards who saluted them as he clattered down the flight of stairs to the town square. Town circle was more accurate, as the central market centered around the fountain that streamed delicate arcs of water from carved stone ornamentation. Shops lined the curved outer sidewalks, fancy boutiques and elegant cafes that made up the mainstay of town life.

Link skirted the more crowded center. Voices rose around him, some greeting him by name or title, others engaged in conversation. Ladies in prim hats and starched dresses, the height of city fashion, coasted over the cobblestones like proud ships in harbor. Children, giggling madly, dashed out of the sweets shop, candy fisted in their hands as they raced off to secret dens to glut themselves on their prizes.

The grin tugged at Link's mouth as he crossed the square and headed south. The shop that Malo, entrepreneurial baby that he was, had once run was replaced by a snooty tailor's shop. Hyrule, Link mused as he entered the open-air market of South Town, had certainly prospered. In the past decade, the kingdom had flourished, both internally and externally, with the sudden flood of foreign trade from the ports to the northeast. The Zora people were indispensable sea navigators, and with their expertise, Hylian merchants had successfully laid the groundwork for a booming naval trade.

Link felt more at home in South Town than the high-society airs of the central district. Here the middle class made their daily purchases of bread and staples from the vendors who lined the way. Scents of roasted meat on skewers and fresh-baked rolls spiced the air, mingling with the perfume of flowers from the flower girl who sang cheerily while she made up bouquets. The Goron hot water tent was busy, as always, and Link exchanged a casual wave to the proprietors as he ducked down the side alley.

Telma's Bar was a modest establishment, but day or night, Link had never known the tavern to be quiet.

Midday in midsummer, and the bar was packed. Link eased his way towards the bar, where Telma herself reigned over tap and bottles. The clientele was exclusively male, and Link spotted a number of soldiers in the crowds downing foamy-headed mugs of ale. He decided against looking too closely, because several of those soldiers were likely skipping out on their duties to share a drink with their pals.

Telma's ancient, sly-eyed cat uncurled from an embroidered cushion of purple satin at the end of the bar. The rumbling purr of greeting went unheard in the general din as voices vied for supremacy, and Link leaned against the counter, stroking a hand over the once-plump cat. He had fond memories of Louise. She had been instrumental in helping him sneak back into the castle during his adventures against the forces of darkness, showing him a little-known secret entrance through the roof of the bar.

The bartender glanced over, and surprise flickered over her cagily female face. Her hair was a shock of radish-red, teased into a waving mane to accent features just going soft with middle age. Her tunic was low-cut and snug, showing to advantage her formidable bust, which Link remembered had both delighted and flummoxed him as a teen.

She had a trio of tattoos under both eyes, and a smile as wide as the backside of an Ordon workhorse.

Her voice shook the rafters. "Well, looky here! If it ain't Mister Hero himself!"

For a woman of her bulk, Telma moved with both surprising swiftness and grace. She used her long arms to her advantage and reached right across the bar to grab Link into a tight embrace that put him entirely too close to her flummoxing bosom than was comfortable. Her laughter roared out, and she planted a noisy kiss on his cheek. "_Look_ at you," she proclaimed, as she always did, and held him out at arm's length. Humor crossed her eyes and she announced to the quieted ensemble, "Well, well, I'll be twixed," she murmured. "You're here to tell us big news, aren't you, honey?"

Link grinned at Telma even as he wiped the kiss off his cheek. He was sincerely fond of the loud-mouthed, no-nonsense woman, and her welcome was worth the long ride and miserable cold every winter he spent in Hyrule Castle. "You look good," he said, because it was the truth, as it always was. "Not a day older than I last saw you."

She shook her finger at him, then reached down to pet Louise when the cat nudged up against her elbow, demanding attention. "Not that long ago you last saw me, either. Had to look twice, make sure it was you. Not too many gorgeous blue-eyed men around here." The withering glance she sent around the room had a number of soldiers' shoulders hunching in defense. Telma looked back at Link. "You don't come 'round here summertimes, not as a rule. The queen got something going for you?"

Shaking his head, Link slid a sideways glance at the too-interested crowd. Telma understood right away, and casually reached down to pour him a tankard of beer. "Fresh from Gerudo Desert," she said, and slid it across to him. Link took a first sampling sip, testing. "Nice and light, easy on the way down."

"Citrusy," Link said. He took a longer draught. "Not bad." They talked of mundane topics, and attention slowly drifted away from them. Conversations resumed, and the noise level returned to its usual fervor. Somewhere, Link heard a heated argument over the outcome of the upcoming Goron Marathon. He just shook his head. It wouldn't be Darbus or the fleet-footed sand runners from the desert fringes this year, either, he thought.

It was the Postman.

Link picked up his tankard, worked his way down to the end of the bar and slipped behind the counter. Telma leaned against the back wall, where old bottles of special vintages sat in cubbyholes. She pulled a stained rag out of the waistband of her short apron, ran it over the polished countertop.

"So, you going to tell me what brings you here, sonny?"

Her eyes were kind. He'd never known them not to be. Link downed the last of his beer, set the tankard aside. "Ilia and I are getting married."

Telma's eyes filled, and she grabbed him in another fierce hug. This time Link managed to reciprocate, but he kept his mind firmly on Zelda's earlier displeasure. As the hug stretched on, he scrambled to recite basic arithmetic tables. It kept him from breaking out into a sweat like a pubescent male until she released him and he could breathe again.

She kept her voice down to stave off eavesdropping. "About time," she said, and gave him a hearty pat on the back. "So where is she?"

"In Ordon." Link grinned as Telma looked around her bar, as if Ilia could have snuck in without her noticing. Females were rare in Telma's domain, and their entrance was, without fail, heralded by catcalls and whistles. "She didn't come with me, Telma."

"Well." Telma folded the rag onto the counter, then turned to shout at a demanding customer, "Just hold your horses, Thompson! Your beer will get there when it gets there!" To Link she muttered, "Damn out-of-towners. Think they run the place. The queen give you grief?"

Telma's mind worked in ways that constantly amazed Link. You never had to tell her anything twice for her to catch on, and oftentimes you didn't have to tell her the first time. "Some," he admitted. Because it was her, he could say it. "Claims I'm disappointing her, reminded me of my duty to the people of Hyrule. She said the people deserve someone they can count on." His face clouded as the bitterness rose up inside him, fast and unexpected. "They never asked _me_."

"I know." Telma ran a hand over Link's head, soothing him like she would a child, or her ruffled cat. "We never did, and you've borne it alone too long." Her eyes gleamed as she looked off into the distance. "You did a great thing. A great thing for any man, but you didn't do it for Hyrule." She fixed her eyes on his with undeniable power. "You did it for her."

Link's heart warmed at her simple words, and he couldn't stop the sappy grin. "I did," he agreed. "You're probably the only person who knows the truth of it."

"I saw you, didn't I?" Telma's shrug was casual, but her throat was tight at the poignancy of memory. Her own childhood sweetheart was gone, prey to the fate of an ill-trained soldier, years and years ago, and her one-time attraction to the mysterious leader of Kakariko Village had gone unrequited and dry. But the memory of Link when she'd first seen him would live forever with her, and warmed her against the chill of the long winter nights.

The bar was closed. It was a rare occasion for her, but the circumstances warranted the unusual procedure. The girl, with her sad green eyes and quiet, competent manner, was a handy waitress, serving beer and stronger drinks to the rowdy patrons without a single flinch or hesitation. But she didn't know her name, and Telma knew, despite her lighthearted manner, there were shadows that haunted her.

Telma didn't know what those shadows were until Link. Ilia had found a wounded Zora child and brought him in to treat his wounds. Her competency extended to this arena as well, and Telma, no stranger to field dressings herself, had been relegated to assistant compared to Ilia's mastery of the healing arts. They were dealing with the boy's wounds when Link came in.

And the look Link sent Ilia—one of hope and heartbreak—was etched in Telma's memory. It was the emotions behind that look that had given Link the strength, and the purpose, to traverse the entire nation to find the memories Ilia had lost.

Telma smiled a little at Link. "You couldn't see your face, sonny, when you saw her again. I did. I know. You never did a single thing for the good of Hyrule. You did it for her. Every last minute was for her."

It was the truth. Link closed his eyes briefly. Telma was a better soothsayer than the turbaned self-proclaimed fortune teller in the lower city. He met Telma's eyes with a small smile. "I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse about everything. Was I a real man, then, or was I being selfish?"

Laughing, Telma gave him another thump that would have felled an old-growth oak. "You're more of a man than any I've ever known," she affirmed. "And I say it's high time you got on being selfish. Ten years it's been, you spending winters here, hasn't it?"

"Ten this year," Link confirmed. He shied away from the passage of time. "Zelda is…displeased with my decision."

The noise Telma made was the verbal equivalent of a sneer. "Oh, please. She couldn't very well expect you to happily spend the rest of your life as a shadow, could she?" She misinterpreted the look on Link's face, explaining, "You know, half here, half there, never really either place."

"Yeah," Link said faintly, but it wasn't so much confusion as surprise. And an uncomfortable jolt of the past. Shadows, he thought. Ten years ago, he'd spent more time than he could count in the shadows.

Ten years ago, and yet still the mention of darkness could send him right back.

And the idea of that wasn't all bad.

Telma rubbed a hand over his shoulder, moving to answer the increasingly irritated shouts for refills. "Don't you worry," she told him with a quick grin. "You didn't let anything stop you back then. You won't let anything stop you now."

Sometimes, Link wished things could be the way they were, ten years ago, when he'd been young and impulsive and burdened with the fate of his country.

Somehow, even with the shadows, things had been simpler then.

* * *

He spent a very entertaining and enjoyable afternoon at the bar, mingling with the patrons he knew from his winters in the city. Most were surprised to see him there off season, but he slid by with vague explanations. He placed a bet with the narrow-faced proprietor of the antiques shop in East Town, who ran an underground pool, and put a week's pay on the Postman in the end-of-season Goron Marathon.

"He's getting on in his years," Rasta, the antiques shop owner, cautioned. His spidery fingers nabbed the money out of Link's hand, but his pale eyes were shrewd on Link's face. "You're at six-to-one odds. Favorite's that sand runner who placed last year, Temple."

Link shrugged negligently and grinned at the others crowded around. "Nobody beats the Postman," he said simply. "The man's a fanatic. The day they beat him is the day he drops dead on the course."

"Rock climbing," someone suggested, and was immediately refuted.

"Nah, he'd clear that fine. Probably the lava jumping. Heat saps the strength."

A third man grumbled, "Keel over the finish line, out of spite. Champion, posthumously."

That brought a round of laughter, and Link just slipped his hands into the front pockets of his trousers. "Just you watch," he promised. "I'll be sitting at home and congratulating myself while you cry and drink away your pain." With that, he turned and whistled off, cheered by the interaction.

He waved to Telma, wiggled his fingers at Louise in a way that had the cat's ears pricking in interest. The cat might be old, Link mused as he headed down the darkened alley, but she was feisty. She had a penchant for play-nipping at fingers, and even her advanced age hadn't dulled her agility any.

The south roads were quiet in the gathering evening. Link's belly was pleasantly full from an afternoon of nibbling at Telma's bar food. In recent years, she'd added on a small kitchen and doled out a simple, cheap fare in addition to drinks. The cook was a stubby woman who wouldn't use two words if one would do and had the personality of an emaciated lemon, but she knew how to cook.

The trainees would be back at the castle by now, he calculated. If they'd been out riding, they would be in the stables, caring for their mounts and tack. A trainee's day never ended. After the stables and a quick bath, they'd head into the mess hall for a meal, then after dinner lessons until dark. Then it was off to bed for a meager six hours' sleep before pre-dawn wake-ups.

Link knew the schedule, to the minute. It was, after all, his life, too.

But for now, he made his way past the guards flanking the main gates and wound his way around the gardens to the stables. The head groomsman, Rowe, was an old friend, and Link had a special round of Ordon goat cheese for the man. Rowe was one of the few people in the city Epona was fond of, and when he was working in the pasture, she would often drowse nearby.

Link could hear both Rowe and Tanner as he approached the stables. The double doors were slid open, so light and sound and smell poured out into the evening air. Motes of hay and horsehair dust floated in the golden light from wall lanterns, and Link inhaled the familiar and soothing scents of horse sweat, clean straw, and the dry-oats smell of feed and leather.

Tanner's voice boomed like falling stones. "That how you curry a horse, Farrell? That how you treat the creature your life'll someday depend on?" His hectoring voice didn't dim as Link stepped into the stables. Tanner leaned over the closed half-door of a stall. Link often thought that if Tanner leaned a little too hard on anything not made of solid stone, it would simply give up and topple over. No doubt the trainee in question could feel the echoes of Tanner's voice in the marrow of his bones.

At the far end of the barn, Rowe harangued another hapless trainee. Link sighed, as he often did, as he contemplated the state of the Hylian soldiers. They had come a long way since he'd assumed half-time training duties, but…still. There was only so much one man could do against a culture of ingrained cowardice.

Despite his best efforts, Link couldn't stop himself from peering into the nearest stall to inspect the trainee's grooming skills. The trainee could have been any one of countless trainees Link had seen: light-haired, pale-skinned, with an air of indolence Link was unaccustomed to seeing in trainees. Of course, he mused, by the time he got to the city in winter, the truly lazy ones had either dropped out or been retrained to a common level of aptitude.

"Trainee," he said, keeping his voice mild. The kid—he was just a kid, no older than sixteen—jerked his head up. His eyes went wide, the jaw slack. If Link weren't so used to that exact expression the first time he met trainees, he would have spun around to meet the implied attack. "You're holding the wrong end of the hoof pick."

The trainee looked down immediately, flushing a bright red at the sight of his mistake. Even as he fumbled the tool around, he looked back up, but Link was gone.

Tanner caught sight of Link and, much as Telma had, roared in welcome. Unlike Telma, however, he charged down the aisle. Link imagined nails in the infrastructure rattling loose at the approach and braced himself for the impact.

Thankfully, Tanner managed to arrest forward momentum just short of battering Link into tomorrow. His meaty arms clamped around Link, lifted him straight off the floor so the tips of his boots dangled, rather unmanfully, inches off the floor.

"Linky!" Tanner viced his arms together until Link thought bones collapsed against each other in defeat. "Save me!" Dramatically, he threw his arms wide, and Link thumped back to the ground. "These trainees, I swear, they'll be the death of me."

Laughing, Link subtly tested his range of motion. There _seemed_ to be no internal damage. "Tanner, you say that every year, and every year you turn out credible soldiers."

"But this time it's _true_." Tanner had once harbored dreams of joining an acting troupe and being a professional, but his size and the reality of life had relegated that merely a lost fantasy. Instead he indulged in momentary lapses into theatrics, to the amusement of his friends and the bewilderment of the troops he trained.

Grabbing Link's arm, Tanner widened his eyes helplessly. "Please, O Hero," he implored as Link stifled a snicker. "Rescue me from the pain!"

"Sure." Link pretended to sweep Tanner off his feet and into his arms. Tanner let out a breathy giggle, batted his lashes.

"Get a room," Rowe complained from behind. Link turned and, grinning, gripped Rowe' forearm in lieu of hugs or handshakes. The staid groomsman smiled, his fawn-colored eyes crinkling at the corners in good-natured calm. "It's good to see you."

Rowe' placid greeting was as warming as Telma's effusive welcome, and Tanner's dramatic overtures. Link felt the inner cloud ease back as he grinned at his friends. "It's good to see you," he said honestly. No matter what the circumstances, it was good to see them. But he sobered quickly, lowering his voice so the interested trainees, peering over stall doors, couldn't hear. "I've got some things to talk about."

Theatrics aside, Tanner sobered immediately. "You in trouble?"

His automatic leap to Link's defense made him smile a little, but he shook his head. "No, no trouble. It's a work thing."

"Oh." That was Rowe, and in his slow, contemplative way, he watched Link. "We'll talk while we eat, then."

Link thought of the food he'd already consumed at Telma's, then of the nutritional sustenance masquerading as food at the mess hall. Pragmatically, he shrugged, slung an arm around each man's shoulder. "Why not?" he said. "You only live once."

* * *

~8.23.10


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two

* * *

**

Link knew his friends well.

Tanner, as predicted, greeted Link's pronouncement enthusiastically, going so far as to kiss Link himself and proclaim with relief, "About _time_!"

While Link scrubbed his mouth with a napkin, Rowe spoke in his methodical way. "This means you're going to stop training our soldiers, right?"

Tanner quieted, fixing Link with a steady gaze. Link nodded. "I've approached Queen Zelda about resigning." He heard the formal note in his voice and, regretting it, winced. "She wasn't too happy about it, but she did say she'd think about it. She'll likely approach you both, too. It'd be a lot to ask."

He didn't have to specify what he was asking. Tanner just shrugged wide shoulders, his tunic stretching over hard muscle. He leaned back in his chair, wood creaking under his weight as he tipped onto two legs. "We've known you near up ten years," he commented thoughtfully, exchanging a glance with Rowe. "I'm a commoner, city living or not, and maybe my thinking's not the same as city thinking. But the way I figure, when you're friends, nothing's too much to ask."

Grinning, Link lifted an eyebrow. "Even overseeing trainees year-round?"

Tanner groaned and reached for his ale to bolster his courage. Downing the tankard, he shuddered, hard, but his eyes laughed at Link. "In exchange for not seeing your ugly mug around? I'll suffer."

Rowe clapped a hand on Link's shoulder, drawing his attention. "I'm happy for you," he said in his simple way. He patted Link again, let his hand drop. "Captain Brooks will be, too." He nodded to the head of the Hylian soldiers as he made the rounds, taking the moment to joke with the tired trainees and establish that human connection that often made the difference between success and washouts.

"Why wasn't he harassing trainees in the stables?" Link poked at the mystery meat on his plate. Swimming in gravy, it wasn't unpalatable, but it wasn't readily identifiable. And therefore, suspect. Link hedged his bets and took a chance on the unidentifiable, virulently-colored vegetables instead.

Rowe laughed. "Hates the smell of manure," he said with good-natured contempt for the noble-bred soldier. "It's worse in summer heat, so he stays away." He caught Link's contemplative look and added, "He knows how you are with horses, so he knows better than to let on in the winter."

"Hmm" was Link's only response. Captain Brooks and Tanner made a terrifying team as they made their way through the stables, critiquing trainees' grooming skills and performing unannounced tack inspections. In ten years, Link had never known the man disliked the smell of manure. As for himself, it was a smell steeped in familiarity, one more comforting than unpleasant.

"Crazy bastard," was Tanner's opinion. He speared what Link thought was a carrot off Link's plate with his knife, spoke around it as he chewed. "So, when are you and your sweetie doing the deed?"

Coming from Tanner, a statement like that left too much room for misinterpretation. Link merely blinked and played up his country innocence. "What deed?"

Tanner swatted Link on the back of the head with his open palm. "Don't play coy," he muttered. "You're too old for it to be cute. And get your mind out of the trash bin. The wedding, smarty."

"No date yet." Link moved his shoulders. "We're thinking around Midwinter, go up to Snowpeak on our honeymoon."

"Nothing better than bone-freezing weather to lead to a little snuggling," Tanner proclaimed with a toast to the absent Ilia. "Though she'd have to be crazy to agree to spend the winter in that Farore-forsaken wasteland."

Link shrugged, pushed his plate away. His stomach was starting to curl. He'd forgotten how awful the food here was. It usually took him a week to adjust to the dietary standards the soldiers lived by, and he usually supplemented his diet with food purchased in south town. "We'll send you an invite."

"I'll be there." Rowe took a sip from his glass of milk. He disliked the taste of alcohol, claimed milk kept the body whole and hale and hearty. He spoke over the rim of his cup. "Trouble coming."

Link looked up. He didn't need to see Zelda crossing the space to know who it was. The rapidly expanding circle of awed silence had just registered in his mind. The instinctive tensing of his skin had alerted him before they made eye contact.

"Link." She spoke coolly, regally, and looked down at him. She flicked a glance at both Tanner and Rowe. "Tanner. Rowe. Good evening."

Both men scraped back their chairs to bow from the waist before retaking their seats like chastised boys caught scrapping in the yard. Link remained seated and picked up his fork to take a bite of food he didn't want. Zelda turned, dismissing his friends, and focused on him. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

Link shrugged. "Unusual to see you this time of evening," he commented. "No diplomatic dinner tonight?"

He would never be sarcastic or scornful with her. There was nothing in his voice but casual interest, and Zelda had to fight down the resentment. He was still Link, she reminded herself. He was still her friend.

"Fortunately, no. I thought we might continue our discussion."

Link glanced around, stood slowly. His eyes never left Zelda's. "Of course." He tapped a finger against the back of his chair before sweeping a hand out. "After you."

Rowe watched Link follow Zelda out of the mess hall. Trainee voices rose excitedly as soon as they exited, conversations ranging from breathless awe to cagey speculation as to the purpose of her visit and the meaning of their exit. "He'll handle it," he commented, and leaned over to help himself to Link's leftover stewed meat. The tap on the chair was their private code, one Link used frequently when they went out for drinks after work. Link was invariably the first to bed, and the tap was his sign that he was turning in.

Never one to make waste, Tanner drained the rest of Link's ale. "I'd better follow suit." At Rowe's lifted brow, Tanner grinned and unfolded his length from the table. "The wife's waiting for me," he said. "Today was our little girl's first recital. She'll be too excited to sleep until I get there to hear all about it."

"Tell her I'll come watch sometime," Rowe called after Tanner as he headed out. Tanner lifted a careless hand—of course, of course—and walked out. Blowing out a breath, Rowe tipped back in the chair and looked at the ceiling, imagining Link even now settling down across from Queen Zelda in her private chambers, taking a stand as he so often had taken a stand.

Only this time, he stood for his own sake and no one else's.

* * *

Link accepted the delicate china cup from Zelda, balancing it in his wide palm. Her feminine tea sets always made him feel gigantic and clumsy, as if by breathing on them he might shatter them. The cups matched the saucers on the low table, the platter of delicate filigree desserts adorned with seasonal fruits.

Sipping the tea—something pale and floral in both scent and taste—Link waited for Zelda to serve herself a slice of air-light cake. He shook his head at her offer of a dessert, then asked, "You wanted to talk?"

Zelda took her time, sipping her tea, sampling a dainty bite of cake. She hadn't quite mastered her temper, she realized, which was demoralizing to realize. She, who could face an entire delegation of irate foreign diplomats, was rattled by Link's sudden resignation. She, who had stood alone as the sole head of the kingdom since her father's demise when she was just a child, had been brought so low by the one person she thought she could always rely on.

"I spoke with my advisors," she began in carefully modulated tones. "They suggested we discuss the repercussions of such a withdrawal of your services, especially on such short notice." She drew in a deep breath through her nose, held it in the calming technique she'd learned from a visiting doctor. "I would like to ask, does Ilia make you happy?"

Surprised by the unexpected angle of questioning, Link nearly cracked his cup against the saucer when he set it down. "Excuse me?"

"Does she make you happy?"

Link puzzled over the question, could find no logical basis for her asking except for her own curiosity. "She does." He met Zelda's eyes, a slight frown crinkling his brow. "I love her, and I want to share my life with her. I'm only asking for the chance to be fair to her."

Zelda's heart ached at the simplicity of the statement. She'd never longed for Link to love her—she had accepted her own loneliness, had never lamented that her position barred her from indulging in an affair of the heart as easily as her subjects. And close as Link was to her, she had never indulged in the hope, the too-simple hope, that he might think of her romantically.

No, it was the depth and validity of emotion she read in his eyes that stirred her heart. Who else, who better than Link, deserved to be happy?

"And you will make her happy?"

Link nodded slowly. "I'll do my best." He hadn't felt so off-balance when facing the father-of-the-bride questions from Mayor Bo when he and Ilia had approached her father with the topic of their marriage. "She's told me she's happy."

Zelda let out a long, slow breath, and the stress that had bottled up inside her through her long afternoon of meetings and social obligations flowed out into the warmly lit room. Her ice blue eyes met Link's, warmed with a smile of sincere congratulations. "Then I'm happy for you, Link." His puzzlement deepened, and she tilted her head. "How could I deny you what you have worked and fought to provide for everyone else?"

Sitting back against the upholstered back of the chair, Link tried to hide his surprise. Because he lived his life on the premise of honesty, Link said, "That's not what I expected you to say to me."

Her lips curved, the bitterness self-directed. "I didn't give you much reason to think so," Zelda replied. She tapped her fork against her plate, the soft clicking noises rhythmic. She blew out another long breath, laid the fork down. "My advisors told me to deny your request. The thought made me so outraged, I had to think about my own reaction to your news. I'm not that surprised, really. We're lucky," she said, her eyes on his. "To have had your undivided attention so long."

Link shook his head, decided he could eat after all. Zelda certainly never suffered the indignities and the indigestion offered at the soldiers' mess hall. He helped himself to a sugar-crusted pastry. "Not exactly undivided," he replied. "But I'll always come if you really need me. I promise you that. I'll always be here for you."

Her smile turned sad, and the quiet longing, so long ruthlessly controlled, shifted just under her heart. Zelda lifted her teacup with a steady hand. "I know." She allowed herself to relax, to take the precious moment to simply enjoy Link's company. Her gaze drifted past, across the room she had made her own, to the balcony open to the evening gardens. A dusky sky glittered with diamond-studded stars, and the breeze was warm and gentle. Strains of music from some ball wafted along with the scent of night-blooming flowers, the pulse of castle life as familiar to Zelda as her own mind.

"I hope you'll visit." She smiled at Link, warmly now, as the doubts quieted within her. "You and Ilia both. You'll always be welcome here."

"Thank you." It wasn't an offer Zelda made lightly, Link knew. And, from her, for him, it was made in all sincerity, and he accepted in kind. "We'd love to stop by this winter. Ilia's never been to the city." He wondered what she would think about it, the crowded streets, the self-indulgent nobles, Telma's Bar. Zelda herself. He grinned, imagining her response to each and every one.

"Well." Suddenly uneasy, suddenly self-conscious where she never had been with Link before, Zelda set her teacup down with an uncharacteristic clatter. "There are still a few details left to work out, in terms of transitioning you back to Ordon." She played with the rings on her fingers, gold and gems as indicative of her inescapable duty as the heaviness in her heart. "I trust you've spoken with Tanner?"

"Yes." The sudden shift to formality confused Link, but he recognized the look in Zelda's eyes as one of distress. He wouldn't leave with her unhappy. "I haven't talked with Captain Brooks yet." He imagined either Tanner or Rowe would mention it before the night was over. Tanner in typical Tanner style, which meant overdramatic gestures and melting poetry. Rowe underlying the performance with common sense and grounded reality.

Zelda nodded. "I spoke with him earlier this afternoon, and he was amenable to assuming your duties." Here was the worry. "Link, we could never replace you. What I said to you earlier…about trusting you…"

Link leaned forward to lay a hand over hers. She glanced up, startled at the contact, and Link's smile eased the worry and guilt that sat like jagged-edged swords in her stomach. "It's okay," he told her. "You don't need to explain." The hurt hadn't lessened, but the hurt was tempered by his understanding. "I want you to keep trusting me."

Her eyes filled, but she didn't turn away from him. She never turned away from her tears, and instead held them back so that his image shimmered and doubled. "Thank you, Link," she whispered. "Thank you."

* * *

By the time Link arrived back at Ordon, the news of his immediate resignation from wintertime training master was the talk of Castle Town, he was sure. Nothing spread faster than gossip in Castle Town, unless it was bad gossip. The thought of it amused him now as he rode under the first welcoming arch of trees. Everything changed from the hot, open prairie lands to the northern reaches of Faron Woods.

Trees and undergrowth rose around him, hands of the earth cupping in gentle palms the world that had been Link's from childhood to his teenaged years. Fertile soil yielded to trees that grew denser as he made his way deeper through the familiar woods, and the scents of years' old decaying leaves carpeting the ground and the newer ones of growing things eased the lingering tension. Link was never as aware of how uneasy he was in the city until he came home.

Beneath him, Zephyr tossed his head, tossing a mane black as ebony. The movement seemed to speak of relief, and Link grinned, thumping a hand on his horse's muscular shoulder. "Know where we are, eh, boy?" Zephyr's ears pricked, one back to focus on Link's voice, the other forward in anticipation. The horse quivered, and Link grinned as they crossed a small meadow where sunlight shafted down through reaching branches and birds chimed in gleeful homecoming.

He rose in the stirrups, spoke the magic words. "Let's go home, Zeph."

The horse rocketed forward at the slightest nudge of Link's heels, and ran like the wind he was named after. Link laughed out loud, sheer delight, as wind sluiced over his face. He forgot everything—worries, responsibilities, the pressure of constant duty—in the joy of the ride. Zephyr knew every inch of these woods, and Link let him have his head as they charged across the bridge home.

They bypassed the sacred spring, rounded the bend and bulleted towards Link's tree house. Link's heart tugged, as it always did, for the wealth of memories the spring held for him. Zephyr had no apparent attachment to the waters there. Epona, Zephyr's dam, and Link's first and most treasured horse, would often spend hours in the spring, as if reliving adventures of her more youthful days. Oftentimes Link wondered if horses had memories.

Zephyr stopped in front of the small stable yard next to the tree house, ears forward, but the clearing was empty. Link dismounted and led the blowing horse to the water trough while he unsaddled him with quick, efficient movements. "Looking for your ma?" he asked, grinning. The horse was a mama's boy, no doubt about it. Everyone in the village knew it. Link fought the urge to leave his chores for later and go hunt down Ilia right then and there, but duty was, after all, duty.

He hung up the tack, rubbed Zephyr down briskly. Clambering up his tree house, he gave a cursory glance around to make sure everything was in place. Ilia had been there, and he inhaled her personal scent that lingered in the air. It was something faintly floral, faintly earthy, a unique mix that reminded him he was well and truly _home_.

He slid down the ladder, forgoing rungs, and leapt onto Zephyr's back. "Go find mama," he murmured, nudging the horse down the path towards the village. It was late afternoon, and he could hear voices lifted in communal cheer. Bonfire smoke and the lure of roasting meat led Link to the water's edge, where people were gathered in the growing evening shadows. Link's throat shut at the homey scene, and he pulled Zephyr up in the shadow of Sera's shop until he could control the unexpected response.

How could he ever know how much he missed this? How could he have ever been willing to give this up?

Villagers milled around, chatting with neighbors and friends, while children streaked past, soaking each other and grown-ups with streams of water from the squirt sacks Sera sold in her sundries store. Link spotted Mayor Bo in deep discussion with Jaggle and Pergie—no doubt about the nearly completed watermill. A little ways away, Rusl and his wife Uli were laughing with some of the newer villagers.

Ordon had prospered in the years after what was commonly called the "Twilight Days". With the increase in foreign trade, Ordon pumpkins and cheese were no longer just local fare, but worldwide delicacies, and the promise of a prosperous livelihood had called people from around Hyrule to settle in. Link spotted Mavin the horse breeder and Gale the farmer, standing near a blazing fire and turning meat skewered on spits.

Link scanned the gathering, searching for one figure. His heart tightened, a band squeezing until he thought it might burst, until he spotted her. And, just that easily, the pressure eased, dissolved and just flowed away. She had her hands on her hips, her chin lifted in combat. Even from the distance, Link could see the flush of anger on her cheeks and the spark of military fire in her eyes. Her body blocked her victim from Link's sight, but he already felt sorry for whoever was on the receiving end of her temper.

Settled, Link urged Zephyr forward again, grinning as he called out in greeting to the villagers glancing his way. They laughed, waved—and went back to their conversations. The casual welcome, the easy acceptance, soothed Link. After the obsequious fawning he'd received in Castle Town, this, more than anything, meant _home_.

Link spotted Epona up the river a ways and, knowing his horse, dismounted and hooked an arm around Zephyr's neck. "See there?" He pointed, waited until the horse looked in the indicated direction. "Go say hi to your mama." Zephyr's nostrils flared, and he whinnied excitedly before breaking into a trot.

Grinning, Link made a beeline for the river's edge, where Ilia harangued Buddy. Buddy was one of the post-Twilight Days immigrants, a rough-mannered bachelor from the north who had come to set up a beer-brewing industry in Ordon. Every fall he made an exceptional pumpkin-infused ale that delighted villagers and foreign merchants alike, but his abrasive manner and lack of societal graces often rubbed Ilia the wrong way.

She was drilling a finger into his chest when Link approached. "And if you think that sort of behavior is acceptable, think again. There are small children around, for Din's sake, and you should set a better example for them."

Buddy glanced over Ilia's shoulder, caught sight of Link. His grin kicked up one corner of his mouth, turned his hard face into something less foreboding. His words drawled out as he batted Ilia's skewering finger away. "Not my kids, not my problem," he goaded. Link eased closer, boots silent on the riverbank grass. "Parents should teach 'em better."

Steam was all but puffing out of Ilia's ears. "Raising children is not the sole responsibility of the parents, but the entire community. You are part of this community, whether we like it or not, so—eep!" Her tirade cut off on a startled squeak as Link's arms clamped around her from behind, and he lifted her off her feet to spin her in two quick, dizzying circles.

She was breathless when he set her back on her feet, spun her to face him, and crushed her against him. "Link?" Her arms went around his waist, pulling him closer, and she buried her face against his shoulder. _Link, Link, Link,_ her mind repeated. He'd been gone less than a week, but the separation felt like eternity. He smelled of horse musk, sweat, and the baking summer sunshine that turned all of Hyrule's plains to dry gold. "Just in time for dinner."

Laughing at her casual comment, Link tugged her back. Their eyes met, one brief, searing glance, before he bent his head to kiss her. Her lips warmed and parted for his, the kiss sweet and soft and hungry all at once. Link stepped back reluctantly, knowing the villagers were watching them. "I'm home," he said when Ilia's eyes fluttered back open.

Warmth coursed through her, and his taste was heady on her lips. "Welcome back," she replied. She darted a glance at the villagers around them, who weren't doing a very convincing job of feigning interest elsewhere. "Thirsty?"

Link allowed her to steer the conversation to the casual, following her to where a skin of mint cordial was submerged in the water. Other baskets and platters of food, buoyed by woven-reed rafts, were tethered along the river. The gentle current would keep the food cool until they were ready to eat.

They slowly drifted apart from the main gathering. Villagers called out to Link, casual greetings, invitations to join the conversation. Link just waved and kept walking. He took Ilia's hand, led her to the porch of her house. From there the sounds of the party were muted, and Link leaned against the porch railing, enjoying the sights and sounds and smells. Beside him, Ilia plucked nervously at the hem of her cotton dress, wishing the silence between them wasn't quite so thick.

Link broke the silence. "Zelda says congratulations." Ilia looked at him, and he turned his head to meet her gaze. "I told her we'd try to visit on our way up to Snowpeak this winter."

Not quite sure she understood, Ilia asked, "She's okay with it?"

Link nodded. There was no need to try to explain everything that had passed. To keep it simple, he said, "We made up a plan. Some of the men I've worked with are going to take over my job for this year. Maybe next year they'll find someone else to take over full-time." Neither Tanner nor Captain Brooks were able to shoulder that responsibility, as both had other duties. "She was a little surprised, at first, but she's happy for us."

Ilia tilted her head. She knew when Link wasn't being completely truthful, but for now she let it slide. Link's relationship with Queen Zelda, their friendship, wasn't a part of his life that she was privy to. She didn't resent that, didn't let it bother her. Instead she asked, "Are you going to miss it?"

"Castle Town?" Link nearly laughed it off, the thought was too ridiculous, but he paused. "Not the job itself," he said, thinking it through as he spoke. "Not really. And certainly not the food." He shuddered just remembering, but brightened as the call went out for first dibs on ribs from the cooking fires. "The people I'll miss. I'll introduce you to them," he promised, setting his wooden cup down and taking both Ilia's hands in his. "There's Telma, who runs the bar, and her cat Louise. There's Rowe the head groomsman at the castle stables, and Tanner. Then there's the town doctor, who's a real character, and the Postman. He wins the Goron Marathon every year."

Ilia listened to the way Link spoke of the friends he'd made in Castle Town. His eyes warmed with laughter as untold memories unfolded in his mind, and his voice rose and fell in enthusiasm as he recounted bits and pieces of the people whose lives he'd been a part of. She loved listening to Link talk, could sit and listen to him for hours if he'd let her. Ever since childhood, she'd loved hearing him speak, the stories he'd woven for her, tales of dragons and princesses and honor.

"You will miss them," she murmured, squeezing his fingers to draw his attention to her. Link stumbled to a halt, and Ilia elaborated, "Your friends. You'll want to visit with them."

Link shrugged a shoulder. "Maybe not in winter, though."

Laughing, Ilia let him tug her into his arms. His mouth lowered to hers, and she murmured, "We're going to miss out on dinner if we don't go back soon. You know how Fado eats."

"Like a pig," Link confirmed, but he lingered over the kiss a moment longer. "I'm happy," he said as he tucked her into his arms for another hug. Ilia cuddled into him, her head tucked under his chin. "I never let myself dream about how I could be this happy."

Ilia's voice was muffled against his shirt. "I'm happy, too."

Link gazed out at the village that was his home, at the people who were his family. "I'm not going to let anything get in our way." His voice was low and fierce. He tipped his head back to gaze up at the darkening sky. Twilight stole slowly over the land, casting the world in shadows. Somewhere, deep in his heart, something stirred, echoed the darkness.

Link's arms tightened around Ilia. "Nothing," he repeated. "I promise."

* * *

~8.24.10


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three

* * *

**

Wedding preparations, Link thought, were enough to make a man, any man, whimper in surrender.

Mayor Bo was happy for them, and happier still to desert the field as Ilia all but choked Link with lists and flower choices and dress designs. They were sitting around the kitchen table in Mayor Bo's house, the man himself conspicuously absent on some obviously trumped-up excuse of checking up on the new grain storage silo.

Uli and Ashei were present, as well as Mavin's wife Cassie. Link's feeble protests that he was outnumbered and extraneous at the all-girl powwow were met with four identical steely-eyed stares, and he'd resigned himself to a long evening. At least there was food and drink, courtesy of Ilia's hostess skills, and Link contented himself with another cookie as the women's chatter rose around him.

They had their heads together over floral arrangements, and seemed to have forgotten him for the time being. Link wasn't about to call their attention back to him. Still, despite the headachy mess of everything that went into having a wedding, he could appreciate the homey scene before him.

The four women were about as different as night and day—Ilia and Uli, with their soft blond hair; Ashei's plait of thick black; Cassie's soft coppery waves looped back, as always, with a white bandanna. Uli quiet, Ashei stoic, Cassie thoughtful, Ilia firm. Their voices mingled with equal excitement and enthusiasm as they shuffled papers and sketches and ideas.

Ashei reached for the nearest cup, drained the contents without taking her eyes off the sketch Ilia laid out before her. "Too fussy," she pronounced. Her voice was low, fog over the mountains. She and her younger half-brother, Shane, had moved to Ordon soon after Link's own return from his travels. She'd then surprised everyone, including herself, by settling in and digging roots in their simple country lifestyle. Now the only reminders of her military upbringing were her blunt manner and penchant for dull-colored clothes.

"How about this?" Cassie nudged forward another image. Link caught enough to deduce they were now discussing wedding gowns. How the four managed to skip from topic to topic without losing their minds was a mystery to him. He eased his chair back another inch, hoping to avoid notice a little longer. He held on to the hope that he could escape and maybe give Fado a hand with nighttime goat herding. The need for quiet and open evening air was nearly overwhelming.

The women, unaware of his tactics, leaned closer, cooing and talking over each other as they assessed the new suggestion. Cassie was married to Mavin, who lived up on the goat ranch with Fado. Mavin had come to Ordon seven years ago and started a horse breeding farm. The Ordon workhorses and warhorses he bred were high-quality horses. Many of the Hylian ranked officers rode Ordon warhorses on patrol around the country.

Cassie had come only four years back, a city transplant sick of the machinations of her noble-bred parents. She'd shed her snooty upbringing and thrived in the simplicity of country living. Now she worked on the horse farm and ran a casual tailoring business on the side. Ordon fashion had never been the same after Cassie.

"What do you think?" Ilia held up Cassie's sketch, modified by various pencils, and looked over at Link. She smiled at the mild panic she saw in his eyes and promised herself she'd make it up to him for sitting through this. She had no doubt Link could rattle off a dozen places he'd rather be than just there right now, but he swallowed and reached out for the paper.

"It's, ah, nice." What, for the love of Nayru, was he supposed to say? The thing—he supposed it was a dress—seemed to be missing quite a bit from the top. Whatever material was saved there, though, had been added, in triplicate, to the back of the dress, which flowed behind the model like…Link wasn't sure what it was 'like'. It reminded him of Zora's Falls, and looked just as dangerous. "Won't it get dirty?"

Ilia sighed and shook her finger at Cassie. "I told you he'd say that. It's lovely, Cass, it really is. And if I were having a lavish, fancy city wedding, I'd want this in a heartbeat. But we're having an outdoor wedding. An outdoor, afternoon, country wedding." She'd had to remind herself of that, several times, when they looked at decorations and colors. "In winter," she added, trailing a finger over the sketch's bare shoulders. "I'd hate to freeze."

"Snow princess," Ashei suggested in her usual terse way. She tossed a rough sketch onto the table for consideration. Link knew the look of bored indifference on her face masked her inner struggles for acceptance. She'd once confided to Link that members of her own sex terrified her. "In my father's village, this style is fairly traditional. Cold in the mountains even during summer."

Ilia's eyes went to warm jade as she studied the image. "I like it," she murmured, and traced a finger down the page. "Maybe lengthen this line here, shorten the front hem. I don't need a train, but I like the idea of length in the back."

"Romantic," Uli put in. She nipped the page out of Ilia's hand, used her own pencil to alter the image. "White, of course, but lose the trim." She glanced over at Link, smiled in maternal understanding of the glazed-over look in his eyes. "I doubt our hero is into fur."

"Huh?" Link struggled not to fall into a coma, to keep the plea out of his eyes. He was ready to beg for mercy at Ilia's feet. "Uhm, no, not really." He had the frightening mental image of Ilia decked out like Yeto. "No fur."

The firmness in his voice had Uli smiling. "I didn't think so. But satin, maybe," she turned back to Ilia, tapping her pencil against the paper. "With some trim? Pink here, maybe, or red."

"Colors are green and orange," Cassie muttered. "Not pink."

"Orange." Ashei rolled her eyes. "Green and gray."

"No gray," Uli countered fiercely. "We have enough of that in the winter. Gray skies, gray earth, gray clouds. No gray."

Ilia cut through what would quickly become a heated argument—and a continuation of a days-old feud among her friends. "I like the idea of pink," she said, and had her three friends staring at her with a mixture of amusement, interest, and disapproval. "Maybe we could go with green and pink instead of orange. Pink here…" She pointed to the sketch. "A sash, trailing ends down the back. We could get pink roses from the Gorons." She looked at Link for confirmation.

He fought up a smile. Hadn't they just argued, endlessly, over orange lilies, orange daisies, orange trumpet flowers? "Pink's popular," he agreed. The Gorons, living in the ever-heated Death Mountain volcano, had a tidy greenhouse business. Since he was their "brother," they had no problems giving Link flowers at cost. Flower names crowded in his head from the pamphlets he'd been forced to read. "Peonies, roses, daisies, snapdragons. Sweet pea."

"Sweet pea." Ilia's lips curved as she reached down, unerringly, for the thick handbook in front of her. She flipped pages for the appropriate sketch. "I think I like that. Pink." She could imagine it, her bouquet of pink sweet pea blossoms, green chrysanthemums, a white rose for contrast. She caught Link's eyes, noted the thinly veiled horror in his. Her smile sweetened. "Is that okay with you?"

Link forced himself to look down at the sketch, tried to imagine the ink drawing in delicate pink. It would have to be delicate, for Ilia.

Because the image fit, his smile was more relief than pleasure when he glanced back up at Ilia. "I like it," he said honestly. "But no more changing colors. I don't think I can take any more."

The laughter started with Ashei, and she leaned over to give him a bolstering pat on the shoulder. "Be tough, O Hero," she said with one of her rare, flashing grins. "We haven't even started on decorations."

Link could _feel_ the blood draining out of his head. "Decorations?" His voice was distant to his own ears. "Aren't these part of the decorations?"

Smiling, Uli took pity on Link and brought him back. "Ashei's just teasing." She slanted the dark-eyed girl a hard look. Ashei merely batted her eyes in outrageous parody of innocence. Uli just shook her head, lips twitching with humor. "Ilia, perhaps our fearless protector would like some fresh air. I think we can manage just fine without him for a bit."

"Fado could use your help with the goats," Cassie put in without looking up. She was bent over Ashei's sketch of the dress, charcoal pencil moving swiftly as she altered the design. "Ilia, come take a look at this."

Link brushed a kiss over Ilia's mouth before escaping. He stood a moment, back braced against the door, and let the cool evening air sluice over his face. He felt like a kid who'd just escaped his household chores, only he was escaping _to_ his chores. Link blew out a breath, watched the clouds of condensation in front of his face lift to the full moon. An early pre-winter chill had gripped Ordon in icy fingers for the past few days, and the village was worried about its annual potato harvest. The pumpkins were faring well, but without a good crop of potatoes, the village would struggle through winter.

It was odd to be home for fall harvest. Usually by now Link was well into his second month of training at Hyrule Castle. Still sometimes it seemed so strange to him that his life, so routine for the past ten years, had taken a sudden right turn into normalcy.

Link laughed at himself and clucked for his horse, drowsing in the yard. Epona's ears pricked, and she obediently trotted up to the steps. He vaulted onto her back and turned her up the hill to Fado's goat farm. Nobody would claim that he'd lived a traditional country life. Orphaned and abandoned, Link had called Ordon home since he was too young to remember. Life then had been typical enough until his late teens and the Twilight Days.

"Not days," he murmured for Epona's ears alone. His faithful mare had traveled with him across the country in the eternal darkness that had trapped the countryside in a half-world between light and dark. Even for Link, who had lived through the period of time where most had been caught as souls trapped in a spirit world, the passage of time was unclear. He had left for Hyrule Castle on an errand in early fall, and when all was said and done, spring was upon the land.

He surmised that meant he'd missed his eighteenth birthday. If he'd done his math right—and that wasn't his strong suit, so there was no guarantee he was even remotely accurate—he'd probably spent his birthday as a wolf, chasing down the scent of reekfish in Zora's Domain.

Sometimes he missed those days. Link never told anyone, not even Ilia. There were some things he firmly believed should stay private. There were some things nobody would understand. How could he expect anyone to understand when he himself barely understood? How could he hope to explain to anyone, even those who knew him best, even Ilia, what it was to be a wolf? The _sights_, the _smells_, the _power_ of a tireless, agile body.

Link tipped his head back to look at the full moon and grinned. It still stole over him at the oddest times. Every month he looked forward to the full moon.

Fado was happy to see Link. "Skittish tonight," he called out in his daily greeting.

Link had never known Fado's goats not to be skittish with the coming shadows. "The old girl will get them in." He thumped Epona fondly on the neck. Her ears were forward, head up as she surveyed what Link thought she viewed as her domain. Epona was retired now from heavy village work, and he rode her son, Zephyr, on errands, but there was no horse in the village who could outherd Epona.

"Want me to set up the fences?"

It was another familiar query, and Link grinned and stroked a hand over his devoted mare's muscled shoulder. "I think our fence jumping days are over," he said sadly. "The cold weather's getting to her more than in the past." With the ground hardening with nightly frosts, Link wasn't willing to risk jarring Epona's bones. It was a hard decision, because Link often thought his horse loved to jump as much as he did. He made a point of not steeplechasing Zephyr in the goat yard. It felt too much like cheating on Epona.

Link shortened the reins, and Epona danced beneath him with ill-contained eagerness. "Like a filly," he murmured, and rose in the stirrups and let out a whoop that had the goats jerking their heads up. "Round 'em up, Epona!"

They had the goats in and bedded down for the night in a modest time of just under a minute. Mavin and Fado scrambled inside the barn to settle the goats in their stalls, checking straw and water troughs. Link rode Epona to the barn entrance. "I'd better get her home for the night," he called in. "You guys okay in there?"

The affirmative came back over goat bleats and the dry sound of straw shifting over worn wooden floorboards, and Link turned Epona towards home. "Let's get your blanket," he told her. Years ago, Ilia had made Epona a tailored, quilted horse blanket that snugged over her neck and draped down to her hocks in a full-body suit that kept her warm against the cold Ordon winter nights. Epona loved her blanket.

He had settled Epona in the stall adjacent to Zephyr in the little stable under his tree house and was walking on the path back to Mayor Bo's house when rapid hoof beats echoed from the direction of the forest. Link automatically stepped off the path, knowing a frantic rider wasn't always the most careful about his surroundings. Horses racing through the woods towards Ordon were rare, and usually only meant one thing.

Trouble.

Horse and rider both wore the livery of the Royal Castle, and Link's heart bumped. Bad, bad news. The rider spotted him and pulled his horse up short. Link recognized him as a trainee from the previous year, a rare dedicated young man named Griffin.

Griffin saluted. "Mister Link." He reached into a sack at his side, pulled out an officially sealed envelope on the thick, bleached parchment used in the city. "Urgent message from Queen Zelda."

Link murmured his thanks, already pulling open the seal. "You can water your horse, but don't let him drink too much." He pointed at the water trough by the stables, moved to catch the light of the moon on the paper.

_Dear Link:_

_My sincerest apologies for the necessity of contacting you so soon after our talk this summer about the cessation of your duties. However, recent alarming reports from the Gerudo Desert have alerted me to a disturbance there that begs for your personal attention. Reports from reputable sources have cited unknown activity around the Arbiter's Grounds, and there have been sightings of human activity at levels indicating some sort of inhabitation or human camp, perhaps of thieves. There have also been reports of an unknown shadow being.  
_

_Auru is posted at the western outpost and will have the most recent reports for you upon your arrival. I beg you to use all haste in responding to this disturbance. I anticipate your findings and have at your disposal any assistance you may require in investigating this threat._

_Yours,_

_Queen Zelda_

Link read the letter twice, then folded it and tucked it firmly into his tunic. He would burn the correspondence, as he had the handful of other urgent messages that he had received over the years. He could read between the lines of the note. While some might question the necessity on calling upon the Hero of Hyrule to answer a disturbance in the desert, Link understood Zelda's urgency.

If there was something occurring at the Arbiter's Grounds, it was likely connected to the shattered mirror in the Mirror Chamber. It was best if he, and he alone, responded.

Griffin watched Link carefully. There wasn't a soldier in Hyrule who didn't revere the Hero, not only for his physical prowess on the training fields or during combat sparring, but for his dedication, the mindset he perpetuated as easily as breathing. Griffin liked to consider himself one of the new generation of Hylian soldiers, those who were different from their indolent and cowardly predecessors, but he understood he would never begin to be on the same level as Link.

"I have been instructed to return to Hyrule immediately with your response to Queen Zelda," he said. He had dismounted, and held the reins to his horse in one hand. He knew he had been chosen for this task partly on the basis of his horse, Frisk, who was one of the Ordon-bred warhorses renown for their strength, speed, and stamina. "The queen requested you depart immediately for the desert, and I will relay your requests for support to the castle."

Link nodded once, his mind on the summons. It was two days' ride to the desert, and his progress would be hampered by the gathering night and limited visibility. Absently, he addressed Griffin's unvoiced question. "I will depart in the morning. There is little advantage to be gained by leaving more immediately. My horse is asleep." He gestured to the dark stable. "You, too, must rest. We will provide accommodations." The communal house, where the young, unmarried adults lived, always had an extra bed and food in the pot. "Your horse will be comfortable here."

Griffin hesitated. "My orders are to return at once."

"Neither you or your mount are fit to make the return journey without proper rest," Link said firmly. He turned his full attention to Griffin's face, saw the shadows of fatigue under the boy's eyes. "How long did it take you to get here?"

"We left just before noon," Griffin confided.

"And likely have eaten nothing," Link finished for him. "Come." He led both into the stables, helped Griffin care for his horse and settle him in the empty stall. Zephyr woke and stuck his head through the open partition between their stalls, blowing companionably as Griffin's mount nosed hungrily in the food trough for the oats Link poured generously. "Let's take care of you next."

Link headed down the path to the village. He took Griffin to the communal house with the promise to meet at the stable the next day before first light and left the exhausted trainee in the care of Hunter, who ran the winery, and Ashei's younger brother, Shane.

Link's heart grew heavier with every step he took to Mayor Bo's house. He could see the lights from behind the closed shutters, a line of brightness against the shadows. Zelda's letter was a tangible weight against his chest. He had been called away for emergencies before, but this was something more. This was not just a summons from the queen.

This was a summons from the past.

The Mirror Chamber held more than shattered dust from the Twilight Mirror. Link could see, in his mind's eye, the filigree dust as Midna's tear had sent spiderweb cracks across the darkened Mirror's surface. And as she'd passed through for the final time, the Mirror had shattered with a sound not of this world, the particles so fine they felt like fairy dust against the skin.

For Link, the Mirror Chamber held more than sand and dust. There were memories that lay dormant there, memories Link had long ago laid to rest, memories that lay locked deep in his heart, seldom examined in the light of day.

His adventures, the Twilight Days, had begun here in Ordon, in the Spirit's Spring. But they had ended in the Mirror Chamber.

Ilia looked up when Link opened the door to the house. Her welcoming smile faded instantly, and she was up and crossing the distance to him. Her friends quieted, sensing something wrong, and Link tugged Ilia out onto the front stoop for privacy. "Link?" Her voice was soft, worried, and she lifted her hands to brush at the lines worry etched around his eyes and mouth. "What is it?"

Link captured her hands in his, held them tight as his eyes held hers with a quiet blue intensity. "I have to go."

Ilia's heart broke. She had heard those words before, and every time her heart broke just a little. Now the tear was larger, and she thought of the wedding plans, the sketches and outlines spread over the table in the room at her back. But she kept her eyes level on Link's. "Be safe."

His fingers tightened on hers. "No questions?" Ilia had never once asked, had never demanded to be a part of this part of his life. He had always taken it as a sign of faith, but…

Her smile was small and heartbreaking. "I know you'll come back to me," she said simply, and rose to touch her lips lightly to his. Now was not the time to talk of wedding preparations and disappointments. But his earlier words, before he'd proposed to her, echoed in her mind. _You never told me. I never thought it hurt you this much._ Ilia sucked in a breath and walked into his open arms. She pressed her face against his shoulder. "I'm scared," she whispered.

His arms tightened around her. She had never once admitted that to him, had only shown him the brightest faith and cheer. How could he tell her what it meant to him to hear her say that to him? More than just the support, more than any declaration, Link _felt_ the depth of Ilia's love. He pressed his lips to her temple. "Me too," he confided. "I want to stay. But I have to go." He eased back, hands on her shoulders, to stare into her face. "I can't tell you the details," he began.

Ilia cut him off swiftly, her smile falsely bright. "That's okay. I don't need to know. I don't," she insisted, but Link shook his head.

"I can't tell you all the details," he repeated firmly. "But there are things you have to know. Things I haven't told you," he admitted. He watched her eyes. Ilia's eyes could never keep secrets from him. "There are things I haven't told anyone, partly because I can't explain, you couldn't understand." What had happened, what he did, what it meant, how it felt. "But partly because it's special to me."

He saw the flicker, nodded. "I know how that sounds. That's why I've never told anyone any of this. It was a bad time. I won't deny that. But there were moments when it wasn't so bad for me. How could I explain that?"

"You don't have to," Ilia said, and pressed a finger to his lips to still his words. "You went through things nobody could ever understand. I've always thought the biggest burden for you as Hero isn't that you have to save the world. It's that you have to do it all by yourself."

Link hugged Ilia, hard, and pressed his cheek against her hair. She would understand, he thought. Ilia would understand. He eased back, rubbed his hands over her arms. "I'm going to Gerudo Desert," he told her. Even that much was technically a breach of royal confidentiality. "There are reports of 'suspicious activity,' which the queen has asked me to investigate. They think it might be connected to what happened during the Twilight Days."

Her eyes went wide, and Ilia's fingers tightened on his. "Be safe," she whispered again. "I'll wait for you."

"I'll come back to you." His eyes met hers, held. "I promise."

He didn't tell her he wasn't leaving until morning. There was no need to prolong the good-bye. If Ilia knew, or suspected, she didn't ask, and Link strode off through the darkness to his tree house.

On the porch, Ilia waited and watched, the ache in her heart not just of worry, not just of pain.

Link wasn't just leaving on a mission. He was leaving to the past.

* * *

~2.6.11


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Hello from a long break! I've rewritten the latter half of this chapter so it's drastically different than the earlier iteration. Please reread and leave me a comment on what you think of the new story direction!

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Auru squinted against the glare of the late afternoon sun beating down on the desert sands. Heat shimmered in waves, distorting his vision of the dunes and turning the distant cliffs into a dancing mirage. Overhead, the sky was perfect blue, not a cloud to provide the slightest relief. Despite the pervasive heat that pummeled the earth, he wore a draping cloak over his usual suit of overalls and long-sleeved shirt.

Beside him, Link shaded his eyes and peered out across the desert in futile hopes of seeing the distant Arbiter's Grounds. He'd stripped down to his undershirt and rolled his pants up to his knees. He felt unmanly next to Auru but consoled himself with the fact that manliness wasn't measured by his ability to withstand extreme weather temperatures.

And, besides, what did it 'manliness' matter?

"My scouts have reported lots of activity on the clifftop." Auru's deep voice rumbled out, an echo from a subterranean cave. "I have done some reconnaissance of my own, and all indicators point to the Mirror Chamber as the origin of the disturbance. There seems to be heavy surveillance surrounding the Arbiter's Grounds, and I decided to wait for your decision rather than lose the element of surprise."

Link stepped back from the window cut into the thick stones of the watchtower. Here they were shielded from the worst of the heat, but it was still too warm for him after the pre-winter chill of Ordon. "Human surveillance?" Auru nodded, and Link frowned. There were rumors about desert people, but he'd never placed much stock in rumors. "I'll head in after dark and see how close I can get. When did you first notice unusual activity?"

"One week. We took some time initially to try to pinpoint the cause before I sent a messenger to Castle Town to report. Things have quieted down some since, but in the past ten years, I've never seen anything like this."

"Tell me what you know about the desert people," Link said.

Auru turned away from the view, and together he and Link made their way down the narrow, winding stairs to the base of the tower. It was cooler there, and voices from the desert scouts that used the tower as their headquarters echoed around them in the subterranean rooms. Auru led Link to a small office, gestured to one of the two chairs set up in front of the desk. He sat beside Link, poured them both generous beakers of cool mint tea someone had set out for them.

"Call themselves the Gerudo Thieves," Auru began after a long, contemplative sip. "Supposedly descendants of Ganondorf himself, and he their king long, long ago. They're very secretive people, originally nomads who co-existed peacefully enough with the Hylians. We call them thieves, but how do we know for sure that they make a living by stealing from others?" Auru frowned into his mug, then shot Link a dark glance from beneath thick brows. "Who are they stealing from, I ask?"

"Good question," Link murmured. He swirled his drink in his cup, leaned back on two legs of the chair to think. "But we don't even know for sure if they still even exist."

"Plenty of anecdotal records," Auru muttered. "Those damn cliffs are near impossible to scale, what with heat and sandstorms and…just _look_ at them!" He scowled at the stone wall blocking their view of the distant cliffs. "Sheer rock face, nobody knows how tall. And if I'd gone through all the trouble to blockade myself from any other civilization, I don't figure I'd be real friendly if strangers came to visit."

* * *

Auru had a point, as Auru invariably did. Link set off in the gathering dusk, keeping Epona to brisk walk to conserve energy. They had left the shifting dunes of the outer regions behind, and here the sands were packed hard under a top layer of fine dust that swirled in eddies around Epona's hooves.

Link had checked and rechecked his equipment before leaving the watchtower. The armory there was always fully stocked, and he had replenished his arrow quiver and bomb bag from their ample stores. He traveled much lighter now that in the Twilight Days. Without the necessity of all the weapons, he habitually carried his bow, a bag of bombs, and his hookshot. The other items he'd collected during his travels were kept in a specially locked chest in the royal armory. There were only two people with keys to access that chest.

Queen Zelda wore hers on a golden chain around her neck. Link kept his on a leather thong around his.

Link let Epona's easy pace soothe him, his mind drifting as they crossed the broad expanse. His mind turned to the snatches of gossip and legend he'd heard over the years about the ethereal Gerudo Thieves. Friendly or not, he had no intention of waging a one-man war against them. If possible, he'd prefer to avoid detection, at least until he had a better idea of how best to handle the situation. His main priority was to find evidence, one way or the other, of the claim of some disturbance in the Mirror Chamber. If the Gerudo Thieves had some part to do with that disturbance, or had any information, then a confrontation—hostile or otherwise—was inevitable.

Link cast his eyes to the sky, streaked with indigo and orange as the last of the sun's rays shot across the heavens, and sent a prayer to the Goddesses above.

_Let there be nothing wrong._

It was full night, and still as the dark side of the moon, when Link reached the Arbiter's Grounds. He pulled Epona up in the shadow of an outcropping of rock, dismounted and stood in the darkness, trying to make out any discernible shapes or movement in the abandoned site. Shivers crept up his spine, stealthy tremors that had little to do with the post-sundown chill that smothered the desert with silence and shadows.

Link had never admitted it to anyone, but the Arbiter's Grounds, and the endless hordes of nasty, horrible spiders that skittered across the sands, made his skin crawl.

He thought about taking the back stairs to the Mirror Chamber. After his adventures, when he and then Princess Zelda had made the journey with Midna to send the Twilight Princess back to her home for a final time, they had discovered a secret passage that avoided the death traps and spider nests that Link had battled his first time through. Now he hesitated between taking the easy, direct path and the one that would walk him through nostalgia.

Link reached up absently to touch his sword hilt, as much for reassurance as for memory. He had never been good at resisting temptation. _Old, glory-hungry idiot,_ he told himself, but the mental chide made him smile as he headed towards the Arbiter's Grounds. There was something that nagged him, just at the edge of his consciousness, urging him towards the dangerous path. It wasn't quite a premonition, nothing as definite as any sixth sense, but Link had learned to listen to that nudge.

Shadows littered the ground, gathered in hidden pockets and plunged harmless twists and turns to an endless abyss of danger. The grounds felt deserted, all movement arrested, all sound frozen as if the entire world held its breath, not in anticipation, but in dread. The slight breeze whistled eerily around sandstone columns. Intricate carvings and designs shone in the pale moonlight, symbols of an alien culture, alien knowledge. Link put an arrow to the string of his bow, boots quiet on the sands. The darkness, the shifting shadows kept his nerves on edge, because in every shadow was a potential enemy.

But at least the night kept the spiders away.

He would have felt better with his sword out, but the light would glint off the metal blade, and Link preferred to stay unnoticed as long as possible. Auru believed that the desert people truly did exist, and Link trusted Auru's instincts. He would preserve the element of surprise for as long as he could. Any advantage in unknown and potentially hostile surroundings could mean the difference between life and death.

Link wound his way through the Arbiter's Grounds, avoiding sink holes and deadly traps laid by stealthy predators, human or otherwise. He shuddered to think of either as he tested the firmness of a patch of sand stretching across the narrow, twisting corridor. Things had changed, subtly, since his last visit nearly ten years ago. Time and wind had altered the physical surroundings, but, more, human interference had added dangers the wilds hadn't. Link had to wonder about the signs of human inhabitation. Stories of desert thieves were as ingrained in Hylian culture as the creation myth, but Link had always been skeptical.

With all the beauty Hyrule had to offer, who would choose to live in the forbidding and hostile environment of the Gerudo Desert?

Movement caught his attention, and Link spun behind one of the many sandstone pillars. He pressed his back against the cool, curved stone, straining to hear any sound in the unearthly silence. Link focused on the fleeting impressions he'd caught in the scant seconds before he'd ducked behind the pillar. Upright, human movement, a single shape, someone familiar with the area. His ears caught the slightest scrape of soft-soled boots against the gritty stone, moving from east to west, perpendicular to the path he'd been following. Link brought to mind a mental image of the room: wide, rectangular space, sunken pits where spiders had once collected, and a patchwork of paths that crossed the wide expanse. The ceiling vaulted high overhead, catching and tossing back sound to distort his perception of the space.

Something about the sounds made him think, oddly, _female_. There was a delicateness to the footfalls that was nearly feline, and Link built an image of a trained warrior, lithe and agile, quick on her feet. Anyone who ventured into the desert alone at night would be armed, against natural predators if not human, and if this was the territory of the desert thieves, they would be harsh, virile fighters accustomed to defending themselves against the predators of their world.

Link kept a running tension on the string of his bow, pointed his arrow down. He could, at a moment's notice, swing and fire at any moving target. There was no room here for doubts, for concerns about the shadows, his eyesight, no margin for error. He eased around the pillar, the slow, stealthy movements of a stalking predator.

He caught sight of more movement, this one distinctly not human. This form was harder to distinguish from the shadows, slinking low to the earth, edges blurred by darkness. Link had the impression of four legs, a tail, distinct feline grace.

It closed towards the unsuspecting human, and Link could all but _smell_ the hunger on the air.

He didn't stop to think. His body was in motion before he could register the mental command. Bow was up, the first arrow loosed and hissing with the sound of a striking eagle in the silence. Link had a second arrow notched and ready even as he raced forward, positioning himself for a follow-up strike and putting him closer should he need to reach for his sword.

The sand cat, expert nocturnal predators of the desert cliffs, screeched in pain as the arrow found its target, burying itself just behind the foreleg. Link caught it mid-leap, and it twisted midair, the right forelimb still reaching for its target. The human—female, from the sound of the scream—went down. Link loosed a second arrow into the cat's belly, hooking his bow over his shoulders and unsheathing his sword in one fluid movement.

He moved in, cut downward once, twice with powerful slices. The cat went limp on the ground, head half-severed off its shoulders. Link stepped back, avoiding the pooling blood, and focused on the human figure half-fallen on the stone.

He stepped forward, bloody sword tip pointed at the ground. He could barely see the injured human and kept his distance, wary of an attack. "How badly are you injured?"

The voice was breathy with pain, but there was steel beneath speaker's low voice. "Who are you?"

Link rarely believed in relying on pretense. "My name is Link, and I represent the Queen of Hyrule. I come here meaning no harm to you or your people." The woman seemed too badly injured to gain her feet, and Link reached for his lantern with his right hand. "I have a lantern. Don't be startled." He crouched down to strike flint against his blade, sparking the wick.

Light flared, and Link blinked rapidly to clear his vision. The lantern lit a small pool in the deep pools of darkness, isolating the gory scene in the vast blackness that rose like enclosing walls around them. Blood seeped from a deep gash in the woman's side, four distinct claw marks ripping furrows through cloth and flesh. "You need immediate help," Link said. He wiped his sword on the cat's undamaged haunch, cleaning it of blood before resheathing it. He swung his pack off his back, reaching in for his spare tunic. He offered it to her. "Press as hard as you can," he instructed. "We need to slow the bleeding."

She watched him warily but accepted the tunic. "What do you want with me?" Sweat sheened her face with the effort not to scream out in pain as she bore down on the wound. Link set to work tearing his cloak into long strips. They would need to secure his tunic against the wound if he were to transport her anywhere.

"I don't want anything from you," he told her. "Can you sit up?" She gasped in pain but didn't fight him when he eased her to a sitting position. He propped her against his shoulder and tied the strips around her waist. "I have to take you to the nearest soldier outpost," he told her. Auru's outpost was the only one in the desert. Link thought about the long, hard midnight ride ahead of them. Zephyr would have to give it his all to get them to a doctor in time to save this woman's life. "You need stitches. You might pass out. Don't fight it. I won't hurt you."

She swallowed hard. "You saved my life." She shifted, grabbing Link's hand to stop him as he fastened the last tie around her. Their eyes met, hers cloudy with pain. "You didn't have to."

"I couldn't let you die." Link hooked the lantern to his belt and stood, hefting the woman in his arms. Up close, he could tell she was younger than he, early twenties, skin darkly tanned by the sun and a body hard and lean with muscle. "The cat was hungry."

She glanced down at the mangled remains of the sand cat and looked away. Her skin took on a faintly greenish hue. "She has young to feed." She seemed to struggle with herself, then opened her eyes. They were wide and direct, the color of aged amber ale. "I will show you to my people's hideout. It is closer than your soldier outpost."

Surprised, Link looked down. The stories of the desert thieves were true, then. He only nodded. "Let's hurry."

She directed him through the Arbiter's Grounds and through a concealed entrance behind a statue. Link had to squeeze through, scraping his shoulder on the rough stone to make enough space for them both to pass. She didn't complain as he jostled her, taking the steep flight of stairs in a narrow, underground stairway two at a time. The passageway grew progressively narrower, the ceiling lowering until Link was nearly doubled over. "We're getting close," she said, encouragingly. Link just grunted. Despite the cool desert night, sweat dribbled down his face and back. He'd never thought himself claustrophobic, but he was starting to see why some people were.

And then, just as suddenly, he burst out of the stairway and into the open.

The sight that greeted him had his jaw dropping in absolute shock. Link wished he had his hands free so he could reach his sword, but it was too late for that.

Ilia couldn't sleep. Restless, she tossed her tangled bedsheets aside and slipped out of her room, avoiding the creaking boards in the hallway and padding barefoot out the front door of the house. The night breeze swept back her hair as she stepped onto the porch, and she stepped down onto the packed dirt path. She followed the path to the river and sat on the wide, flat-topped rock that looked over the gentle curve in the brook that flowed through Ordon.

Despite the fatigue of her day, Ilia couldn't rest. Her mind kept turning to Link, and she clutched her hands together in her lap as she thought back to their hasty parting days before. His eyes had said so much more than his words. She'd known he'd stayed the night in his tree house, but she hadn't brought it up with him. It was hard enough on them both that he had been called away so abruptly. But there had been more in his eyes this time, more secrets he'd been trying to hide.

More shadows.

* * *

Ilia sighed. She hadn't been able to keep her thoughts a secret. After Link had left, she'd gone back into the house, and there was no keeping the others from knowing what had transpired.

"He's going, isn't it." It was a statement, not a question, from Ashei.

Ilia nodded, her throat tight with fiercely controlled tears. "Summons from the queen. They need him."

Ashei snorted, but subsided at Uli's quiet look. The older woman rose, all slim grace, and crossed to take Ilia's hands in hers. Her soft eyes were direct and compassionate. "Link will always come back." She didn't have to voice the rest of the sentiment aloud: he won't die, not this time, either.

"It's just…the timing…" Ilia sniffled back the tears that threatened to choke her.

"It's never good timing." Cassie rose to refill the teapot from the kettle of water simmering by the fire. She nudged Ilia back to her chair and sent a grateful look at Ashei, who silently and unobtrusively gathered up the scattered wedding preparations and put them out of sight on the counter. "You have to be strong, for Link. You've chosen a hard man to love."

Ilia managed a watery smile and accepted the mug Cassie held out to her. "I don't think 'choice' was ever part of it," she confessed. "It seems I've loved Link all my life."

"He was such a scrappy little boy when he first came," Uli reminisced. She and Ilia shared a warm look, and Uli explained to the others, "You weren't here when Link first came to Ordon. He was such a sad, lonely child, an orphan with little recollection of his own parents and upbringing. Nobody knows how he managed to survive so long on his own, or where he came from. He just showed up one day in Ordon. Mayor Bo sort of adopted him, and Link adopted us all."

"Rusl really took care of him," Ilia added. "You could tell, from the way Link would follow Rusl around, that they had something…special. A bond. He might have lived with us for a while, but it was Rusl who really stood as Link's father. And when you and Rusl married," Ilia said to Uli, "You are the only mother Link has ever really known."

Uli flushed a little at that, but Cassie smiled sweetly at her. "Link was lucky, then," she said. "Everyone knows the tale of how the hero of Hyrule defied death and the evils of darkness to bring back the memories of his childhood sweetheart. He did that, _and_ saved the world, he can do this for Queen Zelda and be back in time for your winter ceremony. He just won't have a right to complain when he finds out you're wearing dyed-blue fur in the latest styles from overseas."

Ilia tried not to choke at the thought. "Please," she managed. "That's horrible."

The mental image, even now, had Ilia wincing. She tipped her head back to stare at the stars. The sky was clear, and each point of light shone like a crystal-edged spark against the eternal universe. So many mysteries, she thought, that lay so far out of reach. Sometimes, though, it was the mysteries that lay close to home that meant more, and were the hardest to answer.

"Something on your mind?"

Ilia glanced over. Rusl stepped out of the darkness and stood beside the rock, gazing out across the smoothly flowing water. "Cooling down some nights now," he commented. "Autumn's on her way."

"Mushroom and nut season," Ilia replied, thinking of harvesting schedules. They would be reaping the last of the season's wheat, starting the new season's crop of pumpkins and squash. "Brown ale and thyme cheese."

Rusl grinned at the mention of the time-honored tradition of greeting the change in leaf color with the first batch of brewed brown ale and the mellow, crumbly thyme cheese Fado made from the last of summer's goat milk. "Another year." He slanted a glance at Ilia. "Uli says you've been working yourself too hard. Keeping busy enough for two of you."

Ilia sighed and looked down at her intertwined fingers. "It keeps me from being lonely," she admitted. "It's just when I try to sleep, and I can't stop thinking, that it catches up to me." The tears that blurred her vision came so suddenly, so unexpectedly, she couldn't stop them splattering, hot and hard, against her hands. "He promised to stay with me, Rusl. And I so selfish to want him all the time?"

The truth was never easy to deal with. "Yes."

Her head jerked up, and her eyes fired behind the sheen of tears. "Excuse me?"

"Yes, it's selfish," Rusl went on, unperturbed. "Link isn't just any other man, free to come and go as he pleases. He's got a commitment most would falter under, a burden none other could shoulder. But love is selfish, and uncooperative, and unreasonable. Your mind can tell you as much as it wants that you should be calm and reasonable and understanding, and your heart will say no. It doesn't matter that the country needs Link. You need Link, and that should be most important." Rusl turned to look at Ilia directly. "But just because he chooses to go at the queen's bidding, just because he chooses to leave you as you plan your wedding, doesn't mean his love isn't as selfish."

Just like Rusl to know exactly the heart of the worry and self-doubt that kept Ilia up at night. She sniffled and rubbed her eyes with the back of a hand. "Doesn't it?"

Rusl stuck his hands in his pockets. "Pretty selfish of him to want to provide a world for you that's safe of danger," he pointed out. "Pretty selfish of him to want to do everything in his power to make you happy."

Anger deflated instantly, and Ilia's shoulders slumped. "I don't need all that to be happy," she whispered, knowing even as she spoke the words that it wasn't true. Link would know, better than anyone, that she would never rest knowing that there was greater injustice in the world. "Oh, Rusl," she sighed. "Why did I have to love such a hero?"

Laughing a little, Rusl rocked back on his heels. "He was born to be a hero," Rusl said. "We all of us have our destinies to fulfill. Some of us have a harder calling than others. Link's destiny was to be a hero. Yours is to love him, despite it."

_Despite it,_ Ilia thought, and a faint smile fluttered around her lips. "Yes," she whispered, and tilted her head back to stare at the stars. It soothed her heart a little to think that Link might at that very moment be looking at the same starry sky. Wherever he was, they could be together, bonded by that small, shared intimacy that spanned all time and space. "Link, my hero."

_Come back home to me,_ she thought, a silent prayer to the unmoving stars above. _Come back home, Link._

* * *

~8.14.11


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm back! After a many-year hiatus, I'm trying to get re-inspired. This is by far not my best work, but I'm trying to move forward. Exploring the Gerudo world was fun, but I feel like I'm missing...something. Please leave me a review and let me know what you think!**

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Link gaped around him in shock. He had been to remote villages, secret communities, floating cities, but none of his experiences could prepare him for what he saw as he stepped out of the stairway to the top of the cliff plateau. He entered a great central square as large as the fountain plaza in Castle Town. Overhead, the stars sparked like mad, brilliant diamond fire, impossibly vast, breathtakingly beautiful. The square itself was bounded on three sides by buildings carved out of the same reddish sandstone that formed the cliff itself. The architecture was alien but impressive: huge, curving pillars and arches designed to allow the maximum flow of air.

The third side of the square, at Link's back, was the sheer rock face from which he had emerged. Link discovered he was not so much at the top of the cliff as ensconced in a hidden ledge somewhere up the cliff face. The wall at his back shielded the entire city from view from the desert floor. From far away, the cliff would look like a single, unblemished façade, when in reality the entire city was tucked behind a wall of rock.

Statues of foreign deities were carved directly into the sandstone wall that stretched in both directions. The figures towered over Link, casting shadows in the flickering light of torches embedded in wall sconces intermittently along the wall. Directly in front of him was a towering figure of a winged woman, her robe pooling at her feet, arms outstretched either in command or supplication. Her face was filled with sorrow, and Link's throat ached with the poignancy of her stone features. Other statues bore faces stern and foreboding, and the shadows that stretched between and behind them hinted at lurking dangers that had the back of his neck prickling. The weight of his sword strapped to his back was familiar and comforting.

The space was deserted, and Link felt exposed and vulnerable with the hundreds of stone eyes all seeming to fix on him. He felt like a trespasser, encroaching on holy ground, and shifted his feet. The soles of his boots scraped over the sandy stone, and the sound echoed faintly in the vast space. The girl shifted in his arms and gasped out the words, "Doctor's, left."

Link hurried down an arched passageway to his left, past the immobile statues that watched him with judging but somehow not dispassionate gazes. He kept his senses alert for signs of human life or movement, though he doubted these top-level areas were the sleeping rooms of the inhabitants. Most likely this common area was the daytime gathering place of merchants, villagers, traders, same as in Castle Town or any other inhabitation Link had ever visited.

He heard voices, and, taking his chances, shouldered open the door blocking his way to the candlelight and human movement beyond.

"She's hurt," he said without preamble as he stepped into the room. Women looked up, startled, from around a wide table. They made no move as Link stepped forward. Blood dripped over his fingers from the girl's wounds. "She needs the doctor."

One woman stepped forward. She had a proud, arched nose and full lips that dominated a narrow face. Her hair was the color of the fire in the hearth at her back, pulled back into a severe bun that only accentuated the sharp angle of her cheekbones and chin. "Lay her here," she commanded in a voice like smoke. She gestured to a wooden bench behind her, and Link carefully followed her instructions. The girl had passed out, likely from blood loss. The woman spoke again, issuing sharp commands to the others, who scurried to do her bidding. Through some miracle, Link had found the doctor's office, he assumed, as the other women brought bowls of water and lengths of cloth from some back cabinet.

The doctor turned her back on Link, strong, competent hands moving swiftly as she uncovered the wounds. One of the assistants took Link's arm in a surprisingly firm grip. Her looks were as austere as the doctor's, her eyes a brilliant violet hue in contrast to the dark tan of her skin. "You must absent yourself during the operation," she said, her voice kind. "Come with me." The grip on Link's arm left no room for questions, and Link doubted her invitation was open to discussion. He followed her back out and into the outer passageway.

The woman spoke once she had closed the door behind her. She showed no fear of Link, but her manner was equally devoid of curiosity about his presence. "We are lucky you have brought Mienne back to us," she said with odd formality. "For her life, we are grateful. You have come to us in the middle of the night, unannounced and uninvited. Your purpose is a mystery to us, and we do not know if you wish us harm. But in gratitude for your goodwill towards one of our own, we will extend to you the courtesy of a room for the night, and in the morning you will speak with our leader."

Link tried a disarming smile, kept it coolly polite. The woman was abrupt and forthcoming, but not, Link felt, out of rudeness or mistrust, merely from some inner reserve. "I would be honored to meet your leader," he replied, the formal manners learned from his years in Queen Zelda's service. "I come to your people with no intentions of ill will or harm. That I was able to offer my assistance to your wounded friend was merely a matter of timing and luck. My name is Link, and I serve the Queen of Hyrule, and I grateful for your offer of a place to stay." But he couldn't ignore the worry, and he added, "However, I left my horse at the base of this cliff, and I would be loath to leave him unattended through the night."

The woman smiled at that, just a faint crinkling of warmth around her eyes. "We will send a maid to retrieve your horse, Hero of Hyrule, and all courtesy will be extended to it." She laid a hand on Link's forearm—not unlike a lady in Castle Town, but the touch was a distinct command. "Please, come."

She led Link down the passage in silence, her footsteps silent against the ground. Link felt an air of mixed authority and elegance from her, not unlike when he escorted Queen Zelda on his arm to a royal function or accompanied her on diplomatic meetings with foreign dignitaries. He wouldn't have been surprised to see this unnamed woman as one of those dignitaries, but he couldn't formulate a discreet way to inquire her identity.

His guide turned down an inner hallway. She rapped on a closed door, and after a moment's pause, the door opened to reveal a tousled-looking young woman clutching a short robe over her nightshirt, no older than the girl Link had rescued. His guide spoke calmly but quickly, explaining the situation and Link's presence. The girl darted swift glances in Link's direction and bobbed her head at the orders to go down and retrieve Link's horse. "Yes, my Lady," she murmured, reaffirming Link's thoughts that his guide was, somehow, royalty.

His guide led him up a long, curving staircase, moving unerringly through the shadowy pockets between the intermittent wall torches that burned with low heat and intensity. "I must confess," he said after long moments of silence, "to some confusion. I do not wish to appear rude, my Lady, but I do not know how to properly address you."

Her face was hidden in shadows, but Link could hear her smile in her voice. "I intentionally did not introduce myself properly. My name is Lianna, Princess of the Gerudo." She must have felt Link shift, preparing to bow as was proper, and stilled his movements with a quick squeeze on his forearm. "Please, forgo the formalities. It is late, Hero of Hyrule, and we may begin the dance of manners with the sun's rising."

They reached a closed door, and she indicated the room beyond with a graceful gesture. "Your room. I trust you will find the accommodations acceptable. A maid will come for you in the morning."

Link opened the door and bowed to her. The implicit command—_do not leave this room during the night_—was unvoiced but understood. "I bid you good night, Your Highness." It seemed odd to close the door in her face, but he did so, then turned to inspect his room.

The hearth was cold, but the windows were open and unshuttered. Latent heat from the long afternoon kept the room from being uncomfortable, and Link went to the window to look out. He gazed down over the courtyard, and from above, the statues were shadowy presences guarding the center of the thieves' hideout. These people could, for all he knew, be planning on torturing and killing him in the morning, but he was suddenly exhausted. The long night, the stress of the midnight battle, the cramped staircase through the cliff, it all caught up with him.

If they wanted to kill him, they would have to have the decency to wait until morning. For now, Link stripped off his boots and outer gear, then dropped onto the soft mattress and fell immediately to a deep, soundless slumber.

* * *

In the depths of the Mirror Chamber, a shadow stirred. It was a small shadow, as if that of a child, and it moved with the stealth of a panther. It wasn't as confident as a panther, however, and hesitated at the edge of the deeper shadow cast by one of the many columns ring the open-air atrium. It lifted its small, rounded face to the glittering sky as if searching the heavens for unknown answers. Its slender form trembled with constant shivers—fear, the bone-deep chill of the desert night. The sand cats had scared it, and it was terrified.

It wanted its momma, and it wanted to cry, even though big boys didn't cry.

The shadow detached itself from behind the column and snuck across the space to the podium facing the empty center. The boy, for he was a boy, a big boy who didn't cry, wore a cloak of delicate material, utterly alien to Hyrule. It shimmered and glimmered with ancient runes of foreign origin in threads and patterns of brilliant turquoise. The shadow child climbed up the sandy steps with difficulty, then stood at the top, staring at the broken stand that had once held the Mirror of Twilight. Time and blowing sands had worn the etched silver surface nearly smooth, and the boy ran trembling fingers over the surface. He had never seen this mirror before, but he knew, somehow, that it was his only chance of returning.

Home.

The boy slowly sank and covered his face with dusty hands. "Momma," he whimpered as tears spilled down his cheeks, diamonds against ebony skin. "Momma, I want to go home."

Crying, he didn't notice the sand cat crouched low to the earth, eyes gleaming red with hunger, its attention focused entirely on him. The Gerudo thief girl had been correct when she told Link: the cats were hungry. They had young to feed.

* * *

Link rose early despite his late night. The strong morning light shafted in through the window, illuminating the room he hadn't taken the time to inspect more carefully the previous night. In addition to the four-poster bed was a small table and set of chairs, a bureau, and an unlocked chest at the foot of the bed. A quick inspection to satisfy his curiosity proved that the bureau was filled with neatly folded spare linens, the chest with clothes in a style unknown to Link. There were flowing cloak-like garments that Link imagined were designed to provide the least restriction to the wearer. Oddly, all the clothing seemed sized for women, not men. Cloaks and footwear also seemed to be women's garb.

A small side table beneath a mirror on one wall held a copper bowl of water and a towel. Link used both to wash his face and hands before dressing in clean clothes from his pack. His shoulder stung when he pulled his tunic on, and a quick inspection showed a raw scrape. He remembered forcing his way through the narrow opening to the staircase that led to the Gerudo hideout and winced. At least the wound seemed to be healing itself, and he carefully cleaned off the clotted, dried blood before fixing his tunic.

His legs were wobbly, muscles tired from the arduous climb during the night, and Link sat on the bed after repacking his belongings. He inspected his sword in the harsh morning light, using a spare cloth from his travel bag to clean off small specks of blood from his killing the night before. He checked his bow and quiver of arrows, long-ingrained habit guiding him through routine. It never paid to let one's equipment fall into disrepair.

A knock sounded on his door while Link was standing at the window, squinting down at the people walking around the courtyard below. In their flowing robes, they looked almost like ghosts, their feet hidden and soundless on the stone. He opened the door to find a maid, dressed in a flowing dress-cloak in a nearly colorless tan, on the other side.

Her expression was carefully polite, but her eyes skimmed over him with quiet curiosity. "I am to escort you to meet our leader, if you would please come with me."

"Of course." Link decided to keep his sword with him and strapped the scabbard across his back. He felt too naked and vulnerable without the sword's familiar weight over his shoulders. The maid led him swiftly along the corridor, lit now periodically from windows set into thick stone walls. They curved up another set of stairs, and Link's internal orientation system told him they were heading northwest, deeper into the cliffs.

They reached a set of heavy double doors made of dark wood. The maid knocked twice, then opened the door. She curtsied politely in the doorway and announced, "Your Majesties, our guest." She remained in the doorway and gestured to Link to precede her into the room.

Link tugged on the hem of his tunic as he entered. He had been expecting some sort of throne room, as Queen Zelda had for greeting foreign ambassadors and other formal occasions, and was surprised to find himself in a library. The room was large and airy, with shelves of books lining the walls. The tomes were old but dust-free, the writing on the spines embossed in gold or black, some worn nearly to invisibility. Link didn't recognize the script. Thick decorative rugs covered the stone floors of the spacious room, the patterns in bold colors and intricate, geometric designs, also alien to him. At the room's far end, large windows overlooked the desert, the view unimpeded by window panes or glass.

In a casual seating arrangement of deeply upholstered chairs and a lounging chaise, a man and woman sat. The Princess Lianna stood with her back to Link, pouring drinks at a side table set with a full array of breakfast foods. She glanced over her shoulder at him and offered a smile that was neither overly warm nor overly distant—a smile Link had often seen on Queen Zelda's face. The comparison would have made him smile, but he refrained, knowing how easily humor could be misconstrued among unfamiliar companions.

Instead he crossed to where the man and woman sat, his movements slow and deliberate. He recognized and evaluated the air of authority each held. The man was powerfully built, tall and broad-shouldered, with a heavy shadow of beard over his square jaw. His eyes were dark and level beneath thick eyebrows, his hair midnight black and swept back from a high forehead. Link assumed he was the king—emperor, leader, whatever this people's term was—and a strict adherent to the law.

The woman was clearly Lianna's mother. They had the same long, narrow face and high nose. The woman's hair was flame red, as was her daughters, but hers spilled loose and curling over her shoulders in a cascade of soft crimson. Her skin was darkly tanned, and in contrast, her eyes were clear blue as she watched Link's approach. Though she was female, traditionally considered the softer sex, Link doubted very much he would be able to appeal to her gentler nature. The woman carried herself with a self-assurance bordering of arrogance that clearly spoke of an iron will that was more than enough a match for her husband's.

"Good morning, Hero of Hyrule." The queen spoke clearly, her voice low and smooth. Link thought of water in deep underground caves. "Please, have a seat." She indicated an armchair across the low table. Link sat, careful not to sink into the deep cushions. "I am Mari, queen of the Gerudo, and my husband, Gaetan. You met our daughter Lianna last night. We have seen Mienne, the young woman you so courageously saved and brought back to us. We are grateful for your generosity."

"I am glad I was at the right place at the right time," Link replied sincerely. He was intrigued that the queen had taken the lead in the conversation. Perhaps his judgment of the power balance between the two had been hasty. "Is she doing all right?"

"She will make a full recovery after a long recuperation," Queen Mari replied. "She would not have survived without you. Sand cats are expert predators."

Lianna bore a tray with delicate china cups of fragrant tea to the table, and she served them demurely, offering a cup first to Link, then her mother before her father. She sat, halfway between her mother and Link, and—to Link's amusement—tucked her legs under her on the seat. "Your horse is well tended to," she said, as if anticipating Link's thoughts. "You may see him for yourself once we have finished here. Our hostler is enamored with your horse."

Link smiled at that. "Zephyr is likely adoring the attention," he commented. He sobered and looked at the queen, who seemed to hold the power. "I wish to be honest with you, Your Majesties. I came to the desert at the request of Queen Zelda but with no intention of disrupting your people or trespassing on your lands."

"What errands might the queen send you on that would bring you to our desert?" Gaetan spoke at last, his deep voice reminiscent of rockslides in the northern mountains. "And in the secrecy of night?"

"I rode at night to avoid heatstroke," Link replied calmly. "As to the nature of my business, even I am not entirely aware. However, the particulars of my assignment are confidential in nature, and I would be remiss in my duties to the Queen to disclose them to you."

Lianna sipped her tea and cocked her head. Her lips curved with humor, her eyes alight with appreciation. "Rumor tells that you are from the country, Hero of Hyrule, and yet you speak as elegantly as any noble from the Hylian court. You have learned well."

Her mother murmured a quiet reproach to her daughter before addressing Link. "I am afraid we must insist. This desert is our home and our responsibility. The Gerudo have lived here long before your people ever came to the grassy lowlands. We know this desert. It is possible that we might have information that could aid your report to your queen." She either noticed or anticipated Link's reaction, and she smiled calmly. "We do not wish to enter in war with the Hylian nation any more than I anticipate you wish to precipitate negative relations with our people. Our two peoples have long existed separate from each other. Perhaps your coming is a sign that we must adapt to changing times."

Link wasn't quite sure what she was talking about. Certainly something larger and more lasting than reports of disturbances in the Mirror Chamber. Carefully he said, "I was dispatched here to investigate certain reports of unusual activity in the Arbiter's Grounds. Our local outpost was unable to handle the situation independently."

Gaetan lifted a heavy brow. "You mean, your Queen wanted to limit the rumors of a return of the Twilight by asking you to investigate."

Link was surprised. He had made a judgment of the man based on his size and his deference to his wife, but, obviously, you didn't get to be King of Thieves by being slow or stupid. He nodded slowly, treading that careful line between rudeness and sworn confidentiality. "I received a summons from Queen Zelda indicating her concern about the reported activity. As I have been to the area before, she requested my personal attention to the matter. The desert is not always…hospitable to outsiders."

There were rumors that the Gerudo would murder trespassers on their lands. Link didn't think it prudent to bring up such rumors now.

Mari laughed, the sound bright and musical. Her daughter's lips curved, but Gaetan's expression remained impassive. "Hero of Hyrule," Mari said when she had mastered her amusement. "We, too, have our tales of the Hylian people, though there is enough common sense among us to understand that most of what is passed down as oral legend is merely that—legend, rather than fact. We the Gerudo haven't slain any Hylians in generations."

Again, Link was surprised by their frankness, but he was also relieved. He hated the dance of manners that typically attended interacting with foreign dignitaries. "I meant no disrespect," he began, but Mari waved that away with an elegant hand. The rings on her fingers glinted in the light.

"You are careful, Hero of Hyrule, in your words, but generous in your actions. Even now, you are alone in an unfamiliar environment, yet you show no signs of fear." The admiration was clear in her level gaze. "Now is not the time to talk of the history of our respective peoples. You are on a task, one that we must respect. However, your mission in the Arbiter's Grounds brings you too close to our people to allow you free reign. You will be escorted back the way you came, and you will be watched." She lifted a finger as if to stall Link's protests. "We will not interfere in your mission, but the desert is our home. Should there be any danger to Hyrule, might not that danger affect us first?"

Link was forced to agree with the logic of that statement. He had the sudden uncomfortable thought that, if they were watching him now, they may have been watching him on his previous trips to the desert. "I understand."

Gaetan spoke, exchanging a brief glance with his daughter. Lianna rose, silent grace, and left the room. "Your escort shall not approach you or interfere. She will report back to us once you have finished your errands in our desert." Lianna reentered, followed by another young woman.

The newcomer had hair more orange than red, looped back in a long, sleek tail down her back. Her nose was proudly arched, hooked at the end, over full, red lips. Her eyes were startlingly pale against her tanned skin, and instead of the robes that many of her people wore, she was dressed plainly in tight breeches and a sleeveless top. Both were the color of eggplants in a rich, unknown fabric.

She had a curved sheath at her hip and showed no signs of concern or interest at Link's presence. She bowed to the royal couple, hands at her sides. "Your Majesties."

Mari issued her instructions. "Keira, you are to escort Link, Hero of Hyrule, to the Arbiter's Grounds. He has been tasked by the Hylian queen to investigate the area. Monitor his actions, and report to us once he has left." Keira bowed again in understanding. To Link, Mari added, "Your horse will be waiting for you at the base of the cliffs. There are sand cats still in the daytime, and other predators. Your mount will be tended to and protected until your return."

"You have my gratitude," Link replied with equal formality. "It is my hope that whatever I discover poses no threat to you and your people."

Warm humor danced in Mari's eyes as her daughter sat down once more beside her. "Best luck in your travels, Hero of Hyrule. May your trials this time be less daunting than those of your past."

It was a dismissal, though Link's curiosity was piqued. How much did these mysterious desert people know of his travels a decade ago? But his escort was holding the door open. With a courteous bow, Link excused himself from the royal presence.

Keira was a silent guide, leading him down unfamiliar halls. Link was glad he'd decided to bring everything with him, as she showed no signs of returning to his room. They followed a corridor in a different direction, then headed down a different staircase that doubled back on itself. The only light came from the torch Keira took from a wall-mounted holder, and together they traveled in a pool of flickering firelight in a well of utter blackness. Link surmised they were deep within the cliff face rock itself, going down to the desert floor.

They emerged through a hidden door at the back of the Arbiter's Grounds. Impressed, Link turned once they were free of the cliff to look back. Even knowing there was a door didn't do him any good. He couldn't see any signs of hinges or seams. "Very nice," he said.

Keira flicked him a glance. She'd left the torch in a sconce just inside the door. "Our people have had centuries to perfect the art of seclusion." Her voice was low and smoky. "I presume you are capable of navigating these grounds on your own. I will not be visible to you, but I will be aware of your every move. My instructions do not include coming to your aid should you meet a foe stronger than you." A shadow, perhaps humor, flickered in her eyes. "You are well-known even among my people, Hero of Hyrule. It is my hope that you can handle any foe you shall meet."

Link smiled in return, wide and open. "Thanks."

Keira nodded, bowing her head deeply. He turned to scan the surroundings. When he looked back, she was gone.

Her silent disappearance sent a chill up Link's spine. "All right, then," he murmured to himself as he unsheathed his sword and settled his shield on his arm. "To the Mirror Chamber."

As he started up the stairs, Link was aware of only one of the two pairs of eyes on him.

* * *

~3.3.13


End file.
